I stand alone on stage, a snow-covered plain.
I text my last message before the battery dies (and the sound dies away).
I kneel on the floor, left cheek inches from the ground.
Flakes of snow half-buried, inch towards the sunny sky,
Something bigger, something close to meltdown.
For this, I won my first award.
From the Instastories I knew for the first time,
How it was to be a celebrity.
I enjoy the stoic expression in front of the press,
And their wild guess of my bittersweet past.
The war broke every night into a romanticized epic.
The stairwell fight echoed from the ground to the top floor.
I let the shopping bag fall, everything down the hollow spiral.
Your eyes followed, blue faded into grey.
When the last daylight disappeared behind the cold window frame.
When it hit the ground, it burst into colors.
Aubergines first, boomeranging on both of us.
Baking powder swished through the air, sparks could turn into a disaster.
A bag of Valentine’s chocolate scattered in all directions.
Wrappers floated like ribbons, something to wear on a cliff next to the ocean.
I watched a praline crushing on the wall in slow motion.
Orange flavor, filled with liqueur.
The trickle opened up the wall like a cave with hidden treasure.
Rooms became transparent, one after another.
I’d like to give each one a color and a flavor.
Maroon is the place with a couple lying naked on a single bed.
Crema is the ancient map the writer stares at, dotting it with a smoking cigarette.
Cherry reflects from the lips of a girl who listens to a boy playing Sibelius’ concertare.
Shamrock covers the cake the boy received during an old-town parade.
And advocat, two sunny eggs and bacon on a morning sizzling pan.
Like holding a magnifier and watching a beehive,
We stood in awe, in front of all walks of life.
The taste of blood was diluted to something mild, then pale sweet.
Now I ask myself, is this a dream or not?
Well, to be honest, yes and no.
River on Baltic Sea 
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