le piaf


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A words trier, a stormy sea sailor, a jazz lover, a painting admirer, a poetry parser, a gig addict, a scent seeker, a harmony balancer. Or perhaps, a philanthropy practitioner, a knowledge seeker, a common grounds searcher, a truth resolver. Otherwise, tiny and frail creature who lives in deeds, not years. In thoughts, not breaths. In feelings, not in figures on a dial. And who also counts time by heartthrobs. Because most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.

Monday, January 05, 2009


The award for all shapes of my absence is the loneliness of my presence.
When I feel like this I know that I miss you.
And then I'm writing.
This in front of your eyes is a present in which I packed my wounds.
My organized weaknesses and my passion.
I sometimes want to miss you.
I want you to remain without strict shape.
I want.
I want, but I don't want you to cage me in your mistakes.
I don't want you to leave behind the curtain.
This in front of my eyes is a cheek-kiss in which I felt your eagerness.
I want you to miss me.
I want myself to remain without strict shape.
I want.

For Matt


Anonymous Anonymous said...


Mon Jan 05, 01:11:00 PM 2009  

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