your favourite



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…

Running is no poetry

here running

Silence is only accompanied by the distant noise of the highway, but I imagine it’s a big waterfall as I’m running up the hill and then down again.

Thinking back on my day, I wonder… If we were to measure the freedom one has, what would we measure it by? How about by the frequency with which one laughs?

Not a soul except me, running along these narrow streets lined with well-attended houses. This space I feel outside is also breathing behind those doors, behind the lit windows and I suspect even inside those rib cages dressed up by perfectly shaped muscles.

Here running is no poetry. It is as natural as showering or brushing your teeth. Add to that an increased amount of dignity and grace. And light. Everywhere. Even hanging in trees.