sanama

A smell of old coffee in the staircase,

A peculiarity after a night of repetitive fever dreams

Old coffee is the smell of a teacher from elementary school

A coin found on the street –– still warm like hands

Finding money is a feeling from early adolescence 

Taking a walk on a warm day while recovering from fever is a memory of pain from June 2013

My memories are all invented in the present moment

Poetic lies

At an old age I will not be able to reconstruct the past years

It will only be a bunch of fragmented smells in wonky paragraphs –– tales of a lunatic

––

I just want to lay in a park like an ill person would do

Everything has a feeling of spring in it:

the people outside of the cafés, the resonating thirds of church bells far away, 

the bikes all over the city, this backpain and the sickness causing it

––

Going to give up my adventures for today

No more sun, no laying on grass, no ice cream, no dandelions, no brimstones