Urban kisses
Stolen from lips
Belonging to other
Of landscaped gardens.


A portrait

You were supposed to meet her
To see her
But now I guess you’ll have to wait
Another 90 years or so
Until she grows up
Until she grows old
She’ll have met you
Through the stories I’ve told
She’ll have seen you
On the photos from some time ago
But she’ll never have heard
Your soothing words
Your voice
A voice of only you
We’ll paint the most beautiful portrait
Of your missing presence
And hopefully she’ll understand
How much we all miss you.

The difficulty

The difficulty in sorrow. That’s what we discussed, my friend and I. We weltered words back and forth. Of how one moment it was fine, and then the next, utter breakdown. How returning back to reality, to daily life was supposed to make it easier. A routine. Our routine where they are just a phone call away, a couple of hours plane ride, or an even longer car trip away. But then they aren’t anymore. In daily life and in our minds they still are because nothing has changed yet we’re well aware everything has changed. They’ve always been far away, we’ve always had to travel, we’ve always spoken on the phone. In our daily life they are still alive. Yet now they aren’t. And when we dial that number, catch that flight, or sit in that car, that’s when we realize it. Reality slaps us in the face. There lies the difficulty in sorrow. And certain days are just more tiring than others.