That leaving feeling

The rattle of my keys in the back pocket, my foot soles hitting the asphalt, the sound of my breath, dogs barking behind tall fences, a woman screaming in a house, a gust of wind brushing against my bare arms, leaves cracking under my feet.

I check the dark stain on my chest. Not big enough yet. I cannot stop.

Sweat dripping from my hair onto my collar bones. Precious golden drops under the moonlight.

No id, no phone, no name. I am no one again. I can disappear.

The guards at the embassy of Jordan greet me again with their courteous smiles, taking short bows as they all turn towards me when I pass. Her majesty is out running again, in her colorful tights, all smeared in grace. I do not bother to answer this time, I do not even look, as if I were not even there, as if they were simply remembering me passing by them yesterday night and repeating the same gestures at the same time, out of habit.

People having drinks at the newly opened cafe, a guy sweeping on the ground floor of this office building, the hookers with their heavy makeup, the church with no candles burning for the dead, two guys wearing military clothes talk about percentages, the Greek tavern with its blue and white umbrellas, the pharmacy on the corner, a grey haired guy smoking in front of the hotel steps aside so I can pass, the prophet in the wheel chair loudly declaring war, a guy talking to himself, a girl laughing on the phone.

Am I revisiting all my past lives? Before what? Where am I heading?

I want to leave so badly I feel all my cells are screaming. And so I try to drown that leaving feeling, shake it off, sweat it out, exhaust myself to the point of numbness so I can just pass out in my bed tonight and not want anything anymore.

I get to the house and I surprise my body by suddenly making a right turn instead of the left, leaving the gate behind and cutting through the darkness of another street.

Famous for its high intensity of feeling, the Scorpio is the only zodiac sign known to be able to commit suicide through a self-induced heart attack while jogging.

“I was simply trying to shut down the system and rest for a while”, the resuscitated victim later stated.

An hour and a half later I am back home again.

your favourite

yourfav

 

I wore amber today.
Did you know it’s our second summer apart?
I still find it difficult to write about.
so I make everything rhyme
and sound beautiful like a chime
the second night I dream I’m in your arms
the warmth, the safety, the comfort that charms
and still your best gift was letting me go
so now there’s nothing either of us should owe

“What shall I get you?”
Massimo, the Italian restaurant owner comes to take my order.
“I’ll start with summer, please. The second. With a touch of amber.”
“Coming right up!”
And I make an exception and stay for dessert,
Which means I get a whole hour to run.
I notice the dead leaves fallen at my feet as I’m running tonight –
Her Majesty’s most loyal subjects.
Meanwhile, my lines have lost their reason to rhyme.
I get back to my purple hotel room,
Take off my running clothes –
A snake shedding her skin –
Light my pink candle and an incense stick,
Befriend my new heart and
Sit down and write
While up there, quietly, the moon is filling up again.

 

PS Did I tell you I now go jogging every night? To think I used to believe it’s so boring…