Endvatri.

In bo konec leta. Endvatri, res.

Do takrat še dober mesec in pol vse hladnejših dni in juter, ki jih včasih prespim le zato, da mi ne bi bilo treba razmišljati. O vsemu in vseh. Pa tudi mesec in pol kuhanega vina in vikendov na vseh koncih. Mesec in pol novih stvari in norih koncertov. Mirnih večerov in malomalo sreče.

Da zaključim leto, kot se spodobi.

I think about you almost each morning, and roughly every five days.

(Jon Sands)

"A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You"

When I said I wasn’t with another girl
the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it’s because it wasn’t actual sex.

In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.

Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe’s neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway

for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still

believe you’re there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,

I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I’ve lied, knowing

I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me

is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I’m scared you’re my pink pony.

Hers is dead. It is really sad. You’re not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.

I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them.
I mourn like you’re dead. If you had asked me to stay,

I would not have said no.
It would never mean yes.

Bo.

Spet ponavljam svojo staro mantro in upam, da ohranim kanček sebe v vseh teh stvareh, ki so se zgrnile name. In da bo čas za malo krasnih jesenskih dni, za malo brezskrbnih juter, za malomalo iskric.

Vsebovreduvsebovreduvsebovredusebovreduvsebovreduvsebovreduvsebovreduvsebovredu.
vse. 

Ozimnica.

Ves teden sem zbirala poletje in ga skupaj s poezijo in filmi pod zvezdami in koncerti in večernimi sprehodi in malo ljubezni spravila v nek kotiček sebe, kjer me bo grelo v hladnih jesenskih dneh, ki prihajajo.

Upam pa, da bo tudi jesen vsaj pol toliko krasna, kot je bilo to poletje.

Habits.

Sem si rekla: dovolj imam
 in v tem čisto nič poletnem, deževnem dnevu spakirala, da jutri navsezgodaj ujamem bus in čez osem ur sonce in morje. Da preplešem noči, ki bi bile sicer predolge in polne težkih sanj, in spijem kak gin tonic preveč. Da pozabim vse, kar me teži, in končno najdem lahkotno, brezskrbno poletje, ki ga tako težko čakam že od junija.

Ker če noče priti k meni, pač grem jaz k njemu.

Vse je v redu z mojo dušo.*

"Vse bo v redu" je te dni moja mantra.
 In ko to napišem, se pokaže sonce. Prisežem. :)

Pridi, brezskrbno poletje, te čakam z razprtimi rokami..

*Patetetico - Vse je v redu z mojo dušo

Na pragu poletja.

Za mano je eden težjih tednov v zadnjih letih. In ena najtežjih odločitev. Sem naredila prav - upam vsaj, da se bo tudi tokrat skladalo to, česar si želim, s tistim, kar se pač mora zgoditi. Res upam.

Do takrat pa naj bo malo poletje. Brezskrbno, bosih nog. Z lasmi, plapolajočimi v vetru, in metuljčki v trebuhu. Teh že (pre)dolgo ni bilo. Malo, vsaj malo..