To the Lighthouse


I let my hair down.

And  made a river of red locks

and  cross the precipice gulfing in front of your red door.

I can’t swim.

But used my palms as paddles and your face as beacon

to carry me closer to your yellowish home.

There was a sign on it.

Home for sale.

Spiderwebs at the corners

(like the wrinkles  around your eyes)

and on the doorknob.

Nobody had dared to knock on you(r door).

Or if knocked, you never answered.

I broke it down.

And let myself in.

(Steel) Trap Memory


We are the sum of our past. Actions, decisions, success and failure.Carry it around like snails carry their houses.And some days the house is lighter, on others it’s heavy.On special days it’s immobilizing…

Wordless pain.Soundless one.Compensated by the thousand voices inside.Some whispering, some screaming.Others doubtful.Others convincing.The orchestra we house within makes beautiful music or a deafening noise, playing on the keyboard of events in our lives.

How can you get over an anniversary? Make a new one.Just like you replace flowers in a vase.