Slivers of maybe

Maybe travelling has turned you into a storyteller, looking for the next smile on a strangers face. Red lipstick will remind you of her, but she never wore red. Maybe you have found yourself after all… amidst scents and sights that fascinate and abhor you all at once. Also a place she would never go to. Maybe the story was fractured, so you could find bits of yourself in these crevices.



no one forced you to leave

you taste every ragged sip of emptiness

the echoing walls

and the sound of only your own footsteps.

there’s warmth missing from the flat unrumpled sheets next to you

there’s a million small notes that are missing

breakfast and love don’t make themselves