Muddy

12^th February 2014

#3 Muddy

It’s a myth, only a lie

I want myself to believe in.
I believe in goodbyes –
the sweetest ones,
rolled into evenings of
parallel music and silence.
Could not come or wait for
whistles of the celebration.

It’s a muddy road to avoid,
lost in painted slippery sidewalks,
easy to remove my face
from everything I love,
I invent my sense of existence
in numbers and proofs of my residence.