MY ONLY PLANET

A beautiful day starts with a letter, it takes the shape of a word, then of a sentence. Unfinished one. The words are following each other as freshly washed clothes are hanging accidentally on the rope while light breeze is playing with them. Socks with different colours, jeans, jumpers and white shirts. A rose is a rose is a rose is a Rosebud On a beautiful day nothing particular happens. The heavy coat stays in the gardrobe, the bag gets filled with drinks and snacks from Albert Heijn, the bell of the bike rings happily on the way to the park. The blanket is laid on humid grass. Sunglasses, books (one book with a hand-drawn star), shoes taken off. Icecream is melting on the spoon which is pitched into the ground. Easy laughters. A snapshot with the growing leaves of the trees in the background. Standstill. Sunset. The first clouds. Raindrop. Thunderstorm. Motion picture. Soundtrack. Tomorrow. Growing leaves. Rosebud

I’m losing another day from life while I keep humming the words of a poem. You know it’s weird, my friend. You are telling me how much you hated poetry, then you give me this book by Pessoa: A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe. I already love the title. It says everything I want to hear. I just searched for the first poem I read when I opened the book somewhere in the middle. Ricardo Reis. (I think he’ll be my favourite one among the three persons.) I was thinking maybe it’s you who should have read this book first… I love what I see because one day I’ll stop seeing it. I also Love it because it is. In this calm moment when I feel myself By loving more than by being, I love all existence and myself. No better thing could the primitive gods Give me, were they to return - They, who also know nothing. I’m just writing you this because I couldn’t recall it by heart. Otherwise, I must say I can recall the whole conversation we had. Finally, I could tell to someone what role my writings

After taking long walks, we finally entered a bar. The day was conceivingly sunny. As the night fell, the urge to find a warm place reminded us of a cold, long and lonely winter. Luckily, the heating was turned on inside. The bar was getting busy, but not fully packed yet. We found a free table close to the door. One of us brought the beers. The cold touch of the glass was giving me shivers. We were watching people who entered and left the place. Kurt Cobain, Henry Rollins, Bon Jovi also payed a visit to the bar that night. Most of the time the door was ajar. Only a few of those who entered had the perfect swing to close the door. It was not about power, more about unknown, high-level adjustment to the object, I guess. ’They say people eat the way they make love. Do you think it is the same with closing a disfunctional door properly?’ - I asked. Both of you were laughing and I put on my coat. I was taking a sip from my second glass of beer when he entered. The door closed completely. S