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.
Come here.