Alia S. F.

The useless dawn finds me in a deserted street- corner; I have outlived the night. Nights are proud waves; darkblue topheavy waves laden with all the hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable. Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half given away, half withheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere. Nights act that way, I tell you. The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends: some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no use for. The big wave brought you. Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly beautiful. We talked and you have forgotten the words. The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street of my city. Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to make your name, the lilt of your laughter: these are the illustrious toys you have left me. I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find them; I tell them to the few stray dogs and to the few stray stars of the dawn. Your dark rich life ... I must get at you, somehow; I put away those illustrious toys you have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile -- that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart, I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

I wish I could exhale poetry when I am with you. So you could feel how my heart describes the most mundane things you do. The way your hands hold a cup of tea, and how you cross your legs. I wish I could exhale poetry when I am with you. So the entire cosmos would be in awe of your magnificence. The way you smile, and how your gaze halts lightning. I wish I could exhale poetry when I am with you. So I could romanticize destruction and beauty in the same sentence. The way you love, and the way sound of your heart. I wish I could exhale poetry when I am with you.

flâneur