Somebody’s life is colorful.
Somebody’s life is black and white.
Mine is gray.
I never know what to say.
I change with the light,
slipping from color
into shadow
each day.
-
-
I was standing
in front of the ocean
and I had nothing in me.
Nothing I had collected,
nothing I had desired,
nothing I had wished for
survived that moment.
Everything…
vanished.
Just me.
And my emptiness.
My mind began to echo
the same sound
again
and again
waves.
Tides touched my feet
like the ocean was checking
if I was real.
And somewhere there
the letter “I”
fell out of I.
Me
was nowhere to be found.
I became one with the ocean.
Not poetically.
Actually.
I got lost.
So lost
I didn’t even realize
my shorts were soaked.
I was walking
towards the ocean.
Deeper.
Not brave.
Just empty enough
to forget fear.
Then—
a ship’s horn.
Loud.
Sudden.
Rude.
It shattered the meditation.
And I remembered
I can’t swim.
In that instant
I returned.
Name.
Body.
Thoughts.
Limits.
I became myself again.
And standing there,
wet, interrupted, ordinary,
I understood something.
I don’t know anything.
The ocean
knows
better.
-
How cold…
have you become, my dear?
You didn’t change all at once.
No.
You rose slowly.
First, a silence.
Then a distance.
Then a mountain.
Now you stand there
covered in white.
So beautiful.
So untouchable.
So still.
You have become a mountain of snow.
And your heart…
your heart grew so cold
that even coldness whispered,
“I am freezing here.”
Tell me…
Why should I stay
at the foot of your winter
when you shine so brightly with the sun?
You glow.
You shimmer.
You blind.
And I lie back
pretending I am resting
when I am really
learning how to live without warmth.
Listen carefully:
I am not afraid of the cold.
Cold is honest.
Cold does not pretend.
I am afraid of you.
Not because you hurt me.
Not because you left.
Not because you shouted.
No.
I am afraid
because I do not understand
when love
turned into altitude.
When did your embrace
become something I had to climb?
And tell me…
Is this love?
Or is this something else
wearing love’s white coat
and calling itself devotion?
I stand here,
hands in my pockets,
watching you shine.
And I wonder
if I am waiting
for spring…
or
for courage.
-
Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.
What can I say?
Tell me.
What can I say
when you stand there
grinning
like history has selective memory
like departures don’t count
if you don’t look back.
No.
You didn’t do anything.
You just left.
Like a train
that shut down forever.
Not delayed.
Not rerouted.
Forever.
The last time I saw you
we were still on the same track.
Same direction.
Same rhythm.
Steel humming under us
like the future was certain.
That was ages ago.
And somehow
I’m still at the station.
Waiting.
For the same train
to board.
Imagine that.
Waiting for something
that already decided
it was done with me.
You’ve become memory now.
And memory travels fast.
Faster than forgiveness.
Faster than logic.
Full speed
through my mind
a velocity
my love could never equal.
And the moment
you went parallel to me
close enough to see
far enough to lose
I knew.
Parallel lines don’t meet.
They just perform proximity.
We looked together.
We were never together.
And I think that’s what hurts.
Not that you left.
But that I understood
exactly when
you were not coming back.
I just wish
I had been inside
the last train.
Not watching it leave.
Not memorizing the sound
of doors closing.
But inside.
Gone with you.
Before the tracks
decided
which one of us
was staying.
-
Twofold.
Threefold.
Tell me…
how much do you want?
No, really.
How much can you carry
without dropping it
out of fear?
Because love…
love is always deposited
in my heart.
No closing hours.
No suspicious transactions.
No frozen accounts.
Take as much loan as you want.
I am not a bank.
I am a sky with pockets full of sunrise.
No guarantee needed.
No interest charged.
Just…
pay me ten percent
of what I give you
with a smile.
Not a borrowed smile.
Not a polite one.
The real one.
The kind that forgets
it is being watched.
That is enough
for a day
to be happy,
enough for a day
to feel proud,
enough for a day
to feel… lovely.
Because I know something.
I know
you have more
than a smile.
I have seen it.
In the way your silence speaks.
In the way your eyes refuse to give up.
You are carrying
a whole treasury of light.
And I am just asking
for ten percent.
-
I was told…
not to worry.
As the world walked by saying
it’s your life
your choice.
Now it feels
like I was listening to a song
that keeps reverberating
in everyone’s mind…
but no one sings it.
For some…
very specific reason.
I was told
I had high potential.
But somehow
I went out of sight.
Grounded somewhere…
because I needed the ground.
Not to hide.
Not to fail.
But to explore myself
deep down.
If you’ve decided
to dig the ground…
why can’t I go
to the depth of it?
Let’s dig together.
I was told.
I was simply told.
Now
I am doing.
Because some things in life
don’t make sense…
until your ego
becomes
nonsense.
-
Railway tracks.
Sea.
Tides.
Wave.
Tell me
is it me
or you
we’re trying to save?
Carry a torch.
Light the cage.
Some doors don’t open
till you age.
If you think you’re history,
name the page,
where you lay your bones,
your fear, your rage.
If I squeeze my thoughts,
they drip like paste,
ketchup red
from a crowded brainspace.
My mind is packed,
no room, no space,
ideas collide
then melt into waste.
I can’t imagine
you chewing my heart,
but if you do,
don’t tear it apart.
Will I live long enough
to ask your taste?
Did it feel real,
or easy to waste?
If yes…
oh yes…
you passed the test.
You saw my mess
and called it best.
Thoughts grow wings,
escape the nest,
circle my skull,
never rest.
No matter the spell
you try to use,
I bend, I break,
but I still choose.
I still rise.
I still quest.
I still try
to be my best.
-
You look beautiful, my dear…
said the barren tree
with branches like empty hands
reaching into the blue.
Beautiful…
you, dressed in pink laughter,
while I stand here
wearing winter.
The blooming tree smiled.
You could almost hear it in the leaves.
Oh no…
it is your service.
Your silent standing.
Your patience through frost.
I am lucky
to bloom beside you.
The barren tree tilted slightly.
Was that sarcasm?
Or sympathy dressed as spring?
A soft rustle.
A petal loosened itself into the air.
You will bloom very soon.
Do not worry.
Seasons are not permanent landlords.
They visit.
They leave.
Together,
we will bloom.
Together,
we will fill the hearts of passersby
with fragrance.
And if even one tired soul
carries our scent home
in the folds of their memory…
Tell me, my dear,
will we not be
the luckiest couple
in the world?
The barren tree laughed.
A dry, wooden laugh.
I was only teasing.
I know…
we bloom on the same clock.
When the wind carries our fragrance
and it reaches human hearts,
it will not just be scent.
It will be sweetness.
It will be hope.
It will be proof
that even what looks empty
is only preparing.
Some trees are blooming.
Some are waiting.
None are abandoned.
-
Travelling to the bottom of my heart,
not walking,
not floating,
falling.
Trying to land on emotions,
where words do not speak,
they shower,
like flowers
that do not ask for permission.
If my emotions dry,
and I have to crash,
oh man,
it will be beautiful.
I have seen people
walk with a smile,
strike you on the way past,
then say sorry.
And somehow,
that smile does not hurt.
It flows towards me.
That will not be a crash.
That will not be trash.
That will be the bang of the century.
The hang of the century.
The moment
when time pauses
just to watch
me feel.
Oh man,
it will be beautiful.
-
What advice would you give to your teenage self?
Brother,
you have a lot to see in this life.
Some of it will bruise you,
some of it will bore you,
some of it will teach you
that happiness isn’t loud.
One day you’ll crack the quiet code of kindness
and suddenly the world will feel lighter.
Until then,
be kind to yourself first.
That dream you saw,
the one you never told anyone about,
believe it.
It wasn’t random.
Start working on your art.
Show your skills.
Let people see you.
Connect.
And please,
don’t stay home killing houseflies.
You may think you were good at it.
You weren’t.
They just got bored of you,
fell one by one onto the floor like tired actors,
saying,
“Alright, take the win.
You didn’t defeat us.
We surrendered.”
Listen.
She left you.
It hurts.
But you will move on.
Move like a river,
new every day,
never apologizing for flowing forward.
You’ll think,
maybe I should join politics,
work honestly,
give my years to loving people of this country.
Ambitious?
Yes.
Impossible?
No.
But don’t fall in love with preaching.
Or advice.
Be good.
Do good.
And remember to chill.
Stars will lean toward you.
The moon will light up your heart.
Fly as high as you want,
just keep your feet familiar with the ground.
Your soul will glow.
Dark paths will learn how to shine.
Relax, bro.
You’re doing better
than you think.
