something inside you snaps
–a cracked thought-
& instead of going straight
a quick thought
that usually whispers
but sometimes shouts & demands
to go left
to swim in the veins of that well-known place
to try to avoid the well-known traps & the myriad pointless ‘how are yous’ and ‘fine thanks&yous’
to walk in the same streets
you used to walk, for so long.
To arrive at that same, old doorstep
(as helpless as a feather in strong wind)
to face an obscure image of a familiar person – on whom you
throw your arms at, with the ignorance & alacrity of childhood.
Silence – no place for contemplation –
words anyway have the tendency of making everything real,
they chain a moment by placing it at the mercy of specificity –
highlighting all the what-ifs & the surely-is.
Sometimes, there’s no space nor strength for those.
Sometimes, nothing inside you snaps.
You keep going straight, you only look up
– no looking back or turning left –
you use words the same way birds use their wings,
to float and to be, as light as a feather
to see unseen places and sometimes to dare –
to love again in different colours.