I Am Well

But the unbelievable reality of our dead romance, hits me every day.



Hard.



On the face.
On my limbs.
On my core.



Like a foreboding nightmare.

Like an ancient fear come true.

The End of Love

Last day of summer.


It rained through sun rays and low clouds.


His eyes were fixed on the road.
Mine were shut.
While he said: "I'm not ready for romance anymore."


The flowers of my love flew slowly from his strong hands to the garbage can in his kitchen.





I am left on my lonely bed, curled as a sick child, in my kingdom of tears.