When I long for you, I sigh. What an ordinary gesture! And rather stupid. I unite this loss of you with boredom, when your existence was anything but boring.
When I long for you, I frown and I clench
my lips, as if the air lost through them could erase you from my mind.
When I long for you, I have a heavy heart ‘cause
all that it knows is to ask without listening to reason.
When I long for you, I am you. Absent/
present and sad/ cheerful. And I am embraced by that lovage and fresh stum smell,
and I see that water glass that has brown circles on it (is this the reason why
for years now I have surrounded myself with objects that have geometric shape patterns?!).
When I long for you, I cease to exist.
This is the only way for me not to feel the loss. And I still haven’t got accustomed
to losing. It’s only natural to lose, but I am stubbornly refusing to do so,
and it hurts, it hurts too much this loss. And I’m longing. And this longing
transforms itself into a blob of paint crushed by a brush onto a white canvas
– I slowly spread onto the canvas, I cover it and lose myself into it, as well.
I cover myself because it’s far simpler to lose yourself when you think about
others.
