I am your friend. Don’t be afraid of me. I am a blank piece of paper. I will give you so much, as long as you start opening yourself to me. I am ready to tell you amazing tales of near and far places, of people big and small, of the loved and the unloved. When you tell me everything, later you will realize I am talking back to you, on another level.
I am a burning cigarette in your hand. You hold me close, and you feel my fire. I am not eternal, I may even harm you for that short time. Most people say I am bad for you. I am bad except when I am in the company of another burning soul.
I am an unmade photograph. I exist somewhere in your mind when you feel brave enough to think that the world is your studio. When you see each person as a model. When you are not blinded by the fear and the prejudice. There are no ugly ones in your world. Even my scars and stitches look beautiful.
I am an idea that is alive and is burning in your mind and soul, burning a big hole and You’re not doing enough to stop the fire. I am the only thing you can think about when you’re not lying to the world and to yourself.
I am a melody that will come to you in a most unexpected place, you will see me as a kid who runs along your car, will make you slow down and stare, I’m the one with the biggest grin. You will want to know where my family comes from, because it’s obvious we’re not local. You’ll remember being a kid. The future was a happy promise.
I am a baked bread. I live in flats and houses, suburbs and traffic jams. I feed your soul, your barefoot soul that begs for change in the deafening hum of the boiling promenade.
I am the star, the comet and the satellite.
I wait for you.