I promise to finish your portrait before your birthday.
Just for your birthday, not for Valentine’s Day, since we’re still friends.
Not yet. We’re still far away.
This is not a stupid thing, I say.
Love is like eggs and bacon on a morning sizzling pan…
My last defense against the world is being slowly built with my pen.
I hope I’ll start to take it down someday—
Those words of unrequited love.
Breaking in the window of a lonely February Siberian train.
I was torn between the forest and the past.
A warm place, at last.
Something I had not been granted in the early days of my life.
I had had no choice but to curl up in a corner of the countryside.
Now, even though I had to bear with the clinking toasts from the first class and wails of busted flush from the third class, that was will and fate.
Warm chocolate still tasted fine when it got cold in an exquisite tea set.
I shared the awkwardness with one stranger and two vacant beds.
We set the table and our friendship was on the set.
You lived by the world’s deepest lake. Make patterns on the frozen landscape.
I was on a journey to celebrate someone’s birthday.
Light melted in two glasses of advocat.
Outside, the sun was about to rise and set.
What makes people fall in love? I asked, munching a Pierogi.
Firebird, you said, without hesitation. But more of that golden feather and the cage, I’m afraid.
Tell me more. I demanded, leaning closer.
A quest simpler than you described. I did not blame the creature.
Our heavy breaths filled the cabin as the train came to that vacuum interval, which stretched into immense time and space.
Who’s the trapped one, the man or the sun?
Behind the red-curtained window and those needles, branches, and trunks?
Who dares to do what the poet did, to walk like a dreamer and to hug the birch and sing summer’s love?
Blonde hair and blue eyes.
All covered in snow of immeasurable height.
An early Happy Valentine’s everyone:)
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River on Baltic Sea 
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