dancing in the sun

 I'm watching
sun stains on the ceiling
through my fingers:
they tremble and vibrate
they dance 
and change their shapes

when I finally get up
I tremble and vibrate
too
maybe from far away
you could mistake it
for a dance

my contours
can no longer hold
my own shape
they break
and fall to the ground
as in a slow motion
as if they were feathers

sun sets
and the shadow
swallows my room
and covers
my sadness
and my shame

when I walk to the door
I sway
and move 
to the music
I can't hear
I look at my feet
and I can almost
convince myself
that I'm dancing

pocket dial

he pocket dials me

from his date

my name does start

with the letter A

so maybe in a way

it's not only the phone's fault

but also alphabet's

it takes me a moment

to realize

what just happened

I listen to his voice

that sounds different

round

and plastic

(I can also hear her

but I try

to leave her faceless)

I hang up

for few minutes

I don't move

close my eyes

and think that probably

all of that is a bit funny

I might be also

remembering that time

when we spoke

and I've told him

that I can't do this

anymore

I send him a message

that he called me

just a moment ago

by then

I only hope

there will be

some truth in his reply

what I get is

"oops sorry"

all very true

I guess

otters (I have cut my hair)

when I said

I am going to cut

my hair

I tried to tell you

something

but maybe

I was too vague

now it's too late

and with my head

so much lighter

my heart got

so much more heavy

and there are

no more words

I can now

comb my hair

for the very first time

in months

and I feel bad about it

I stay up all night

because sleep felt

so much better

with my hand in yours

small print

surely it must be somewhere:

maybe it's written with the invisible ink

or tattooed somewhere on my back

or hidden under my hair...

"terms and conditions apply".

just next to "made in"

and "no warranty".

we both know

there is no spare parts

and I am already broken.

you smile and break me

a

little

bit

more.

[he]story

you tell me the stories

when it’s already dark

when I already can’t see

your face

when the movements of your hands

are just a sound

you braid together lies and truth

I listen and don’t interrupt

my silence

is yet another lie

you will tell a story about