grout away

there it was:
 a house of four thousand rooms
 with no TVs and where we couldn't get lost.

I went up to you in light, like one approaches the altar,
seeking out forgiveness.
funny thing is I have nothing to be forgiven about.
                                                                                  but it wasn't what I found–
fate met me with an open hand, a palm stretched out, facing upwards,
a shy and sly look, a smirk,
a you already know this, I don't know why I'm telling you this
and you shook your head and it was all gone. you brushed it

off like it was nothing more than a mixup, something you tell a friend,

a confidante, someone stronger, someone less committed. I just listened.

I couldn't sleep! I was so excited: I finally felt free. and then,

there's no more silence.

there was no need to talk, nothing to say,

nothing to discuss about because there was just nothing:

no awkwardness, no stalling, no hurt. you didn't try to hurt me, this time.

        I can't pretend I want to be forgotten.

   

and when I confessed to my favorite songs,
you played them for me,
in a whisper, in the farthest corner of the kitchen,

     I think I knew. I think I did.

an idea of rest

once every few months I one friday evening alone to carry out my routines. this includes an afternoon session of house cleaning, to remove the remnants of the work week from my mind; going to the gym, because I have no choice; coming back to shower and pamper myself in a bathrobe, whilst I get ready for the night. The sun would be down by then.

this is all followed by dinner arrangements: 2 cans of beer and bread (has to be fresh), a can of sardines, a tomato thinly sliced and heavily salted, some butter and a sprinkle of black pepper. The lights are on by then.

I need to see a movie, any movie, as long as it is my movie. The first can of beer will be gone between the first 10 minutes but the second can come later. After the movie, all dishes are washed. The kitchen lights come off at this time.

it's then time to settle for the writing part. if I feel watched I can't do it. I stretch out and admire the cleanliness of my house, the lingering smell of tin canned fish, and I move forward. I love to play the horace silver quintet or miles davis quintet at this point.

usually frustration hits after a while. I just continue to push. I'm exhausted from the week, probably should go to bed, but the minutes I have left of solitude are more important than that. so I cling on to it before my head starts aching and all the lights go off. that's my idea of rest.