Another restless night.
A room with a single bed.
Butterflies are singing: “Wake up”!
On the couch and in my head, giving me hope that anything is possible.
Mr Tequila came in, hugged me until I sank into sleep, completely gone.
“You didn’t answer my call,” – I whispered.
“No. I didn’t, Miss Maybe. Because you are dead.”
I took a deep breath, picked up the sun from the floor, – ready to go:
“I am leaving. See you soon, Mr Tequila.”
“Don’t worry, you can’t go anywhere. Maybe… Later?”
I decided to learn to fly.
Unexpectedly slipped, whipping up the traces of vomit from the blouse.
“Is everything all right?” – Mr Tequila asked, arriving like a ghost from nowhere.
“Maybe. Or Not. Oh Tequila, nothing can be truly fun without you,” – pain is streaming down my face.
“I love you,” – he said and closed the grave.
The love felt good on my skin.
I wanted to ask him: “Why, why am I here then, if you love me?” but I didn’t say anything.
Instead I stared from the other side, through the stone of granite, mesmerized by the silent synchronization of his mind and hand, writing:
“What the hell?! How is it even possible?!” – I thought and …woke up.
A large cup of coffee waited for me – the absolute joy after the dark riddled dream.
Ps. The poem is about ‘alcohol dependency’. And for Mental Health Awareness month as well. Check here: Stoner On a Rollercoaster
Image – Jess Marshall, Flickr
Living in Sweden. Awesome. Happy. Ayurvedic food. Healthy lifestyle. Dogs. Literature. Painting. Meditation/Yoga. I love my life.
"It does not matter how long you are spending on the earth, how much money you have gathered or how much attention you have received. It is the amount of positive vibration you have radiated in life that matters" A. Ray