So this is Cy Twombly, I thought, an American who had chosen Rome, a place of the Old World, who acquainted himself with the Homeric history of civilisation, who conducted a poetic dialogue between the anatomy of moments and their fading.

 

may 18th 2023

lately i've been having a good life,

some momentuum, a nice time around,

i have plans for the near future,

healthy family,

lovely friends.

i don't think i've been this happy in a long time.

i haven't accomplished anything major,

this shouldn't even be a poem.

i'm somewhat glad that i get to wake up each morning and be me:

that feeling shouldn't go unnoticed,

it doesn't seem to be happening very often.

a lot of my worth is tied to someone else's opinion,

i fear;

i see that for most of these past months i haven't really paid much attention to it

as if suddenly i realized i am free to make my own decisions.

breathing in,

being grateful,

excited for what's ahead.

drinking like this will drive me insane

what's with my fixation to always be pouring my heart out when drunk? am i more interesting for spilling secrets? i never even know what i am talking about

midnight show

somewhere in my head

we were such a good thing

we were such a good t h i n g

make it go away, without a trace