I've never quite understood the English
(I loved one once but I won't speak of it)
and I can't remember what I am here for,
in this island; the comfort of Knowing
would help, I think, with the difficulty of Being
or perhaps this is all a lie: perhaps wherever I'll be
there'll always be this fucking melancholy?
Yes. There are days like that
-out of love, out of reach-
when nothing appears right, nothing
but the day that will come next, perhaps.
Cafes and Days
8 years ago
