Your voice.

I like to listen to your voice. How your words like ships float on the air towards me and my small ears turn pink in delight. The gentle dip of your voice are the paper planes flying down the sky.

I like to listen to your voice.When you speak, I try to grasp the intangible from the air and keep it in my shirt pocket until it quietly finds an escape route to my heart, filling my body with your voice.


[ Photography by Luciano Matias Dominguez ]




What is this indescribable pain that originates from my heart ?

What is this intangible suffering that shoots like waves across my body ?

How difficult is to lean against the wall, submerge and become the wall, away from all the noise and people ?

There is a space behind the words where meaning leaves and something else remains. I want to live there.


[ Photography by Maria Kopytova ]

‘ I’m fine ‘


It’s 9:01 PM, August 1.

Don McLean’s American Pie is playing and I’m nodding my head to it. You’re not paying any attention to the music.

You are staring at the cream wall.

What a peculiar life you must lead in your head.

I tell you to lie down if you’re tired. ‘ It’s fine’ you tell me and I have to believe it is.

The music is reflecting off the wall, a sombre rhythm of its own.

You are unbelievably cute, you hate it when people say that to you, so I’m going to keep that in my heart.

With cigarette in one hand, I try to clear the bed hoping that you would sit next to me. But you stare at your fingers, that is okay too.

I almost put my ink pen inside my mouth instead of the cigarette. I laugh at myself. Life is funny.

I hope the smoke from my lungs reaches you, it’s a whimper for company.


[photo-source: the-bushido-code/tumblr]