The eyelids started to open
one after the other;
witnessing the early birds
and the mascara stains on the pillowcase.
Fighting the nightmare of the chimney guy;
restoring the lovemaking stories.

Yawn.

The light is still blinking –
after all these years, she wonders.
The never-ending blinks tell her everything
but don’t tell her anything.

Yawn again.

The alarm goes off –
How desperate; how annoying.

Snooze.

And again, it goes off.

Is it the art of sound that matters to her
or perhaps the shape of anxiety?

Stop.

She rises – calling his name out loud.
She puts a new postcard
on the mirror and goes crazy
for the reflection of her face.
Then reads the same love letter
written by her hero; by the love of her life –
knowing all the words by heart.

The door is open.

Bang.

The door is shut.

She feels the flakes on her dried-out skin,
and the freshness of the northern wind.
She catched the very
first train and puts the
“last train” on repeat.

S