Monday, November 16, 2009

Good Morning, my winter time.


Sun lights are kissing my eyes when they're perfectly closed; wind's blowing the sober soul.

As if I never want to wake up in the winter time.

Want to be soaked, as the night's still with its hangovers.

The drew on my window is singing, that the autumn has left, as you took off with your regular posture after a exhausted party.

That posture, famous, elegant but tired, somehow you pull it off, right there with your pompous attitude which comes from your traveling heart.

Then winter settles in this heart.

My heart.

That has never been laid on anyone's hand; I had kept it, even with your sarcasm.

And these fingers moving into the air having their first experience of chill cool air, boldly, quite and calm.

"Finally you have come." she said.
And she's the only one who has witness this moment; shed a tear she did, to celebrate the time she's been waiting for, for too long time.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I am back here, in what can eventually be considered "home", at least in this portion of my life, and before long I make my discovery.

it's cold.

I almost forgot it can actually be like that.
Strangely, I liked the feeling.
Chilly breeze of wind randomly blows around my face.
My hands try to find shelter in the pockets of my coat.
I can see my breath, my wisper, my thoughts.

And I can read through them...I smile.

Caroline said...

One can adapt to a thing so easily, it shows the strength and will. The differences between each city is also a mark of a travel, make it worthy remembering, make the experience unique and sometimes in pain.

If you have catched any poetic plots, don't forget to fold it, put into the pocket, have them sent to my ears. They will be charised as they always were.