It’s not about a relationship having a life.
It’s probably more about a relationship as a life.
The drapes drop,
the air burns,
In a moment with a person…
Just the smudges,
the smudges.
A minimalist,
a voice, far from the cause of its existence…
We have all been fucked in our holes
and the kind that hurts the most doesn’t involve anyone…
There’s something to this time that we do
and a strange yearning,
an ache of blossoms
have always stayed,
so invisible
that it just starts to make sense.
Knowing a person can’t be different from knowing a mountain or knowing a forest or a summer valley…
It’s about holding a dream somewhere
and knowing the ability of an effervescent distance.

…………………………………………………………….

Painting: Szilard Szilagyi.