Four months later, still waiting,
for a kiss on the forehead...

You were lonely, staring at the walls
or the telephone screen, drinking...

To my lover: unlace the embroidery
that's become of my mind, unclasp...

Breathe on my skin, slowly,
let me relish at the way your chest...

There's something about waking up to your words,
or waking you up with mine, hearing the softness...

I sometimes wonder
when I'll stop deleting myself...

"What was high school like, to you?"
I was the rat in the labyrinth...

I turned a blind eye
to all the love he felt for me...

On morose mornings, I think of myself,
the tea leaves at the bottom of your cup...

I want the world to consist less
of headaches, of less collars that suffocate...

The world, as I know it,
is fictional...

Dear Amaya,
Sometimes I am reminded of you...