One art.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

E. Bishop 

8.

Kmalu bom sama s sabo praznovala osmo obletnico. Kot pač pritiče absurdnosti celotne zgodbe seveda na tako ironičen način, da je vse skupaj samo.. Smešno.
..In nikogar ob meni, s katerim bi to ironijo lahko delila.. Ah.

Nekdo/nekaj tam zgoraj mora očitno imeti prekleto črn smisel za humor. Lepo bi bilo, da ga počasi že neha izživljati nad mano.

Le to.

Ne potrebujem veliko.

..le nekoga, ki bo zjutraj vstal pet minut pred mano in mi skuhal kavo.

In se ob večerih privil k meni...

I think I'll leave it 'til tomorrow to unpack..

Try to remind myself that I was happy here, before I knew that I could get on a plane and fly away from the road where the cars never stop going through the night, to a life where I can watch the sun set. And take my time.
Take all my time.

Dido-Sand in my shoes

I need a moment to breathe in this old, familiar air, which seems the same as always. Nothing ever changes here. And what if I am the one who changed? The one with sand in her shoes and Madrid in her heart.

hope.

Bo. Vse se bo uredilo.

O porazih in računih brez krčmarjev neke deklice.

Sprejeti poraze tako, da z dvignjeno glavo pogledaš prihodnosti v oči in ji z izzivalnim glasom rečeš: "Bring. It. On."

Tega se moram še naučiti. Saj verjamem, res verjamem, da ima vse svoj namen in da se nekatera vrata zaprejo z razlogom, ki ga bom razumela šele, ko se bodo odprla druga, ampak.. Me je še vedno strah. In me skrbi, da ne bo, da ne bom...

Se počutim kot dekletce, ki je sanjalo prezgodaj in preveliko, nato pa so se gradovi v oblakih zrušili nanjo in jo pokopali pod seboj. Pod vsemi skrbmi. Pod svojimi načrti, za katere je mislila, da so praktično že uresničeni. In je tudi živela tako, kot da so. In sanjarila. Živela cilj, še preden je dobila zagotovljena sredstva zanj. Kdo to dela?  Oh, deklica..

Morda bom vse to znala, ko bom odrasla. Do takrat bom pa upala in verjela in se učila iz svojih bridkih napak. In imela noge trdno na tleh, medtem ko bo moja glava v oblakih.

Noćna pitanja

"Ko li će to moje slutnje razbistriti

ko me razumeti

ko me zavoleti

ko me preboleti…?"

P.Zubac