Being nostalgic for something that never happened
but could happen.
The one where I am screwing a woman and not telling that I love her
or the one where the goodbye happened without realizing that distance was just a metaphor for death.
Don’t tell me you didn’t have one of those…
this whole crowd with all their fallen activities is only frolicking around for the possibilities that they never could catch.
All the drapes are closed…a measured song… illumination…the fights are still beautiful.
I just saw a photo…of her tilting the head with all those monsoon hairs…she could make sleeps in riots and sunsets of a unforgiving desert.
You and I are living for this revolution that gave us a chance…babe; when we are going to make our shares of revolts?

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Marc Brüneke.