A plan for each thought
There are no dandelions in the field
Even this mild winter has killed half life
A new lockdown is in preparation
Supposedly some danger of clean air
In a large photo in a frame
I hold the chamomile stalks with my toes
I laugh innocently
Not knowing what would follow in the years to come
At the door of a new entrance I think of all these false friendships
I don’t know why, but most are female
They appear as friendly faces, and then disappear without a trace
They change from closeness and openness to those that gnaw bones and bone marrow
In those moments, I think, it's better to do nothing
My final decision, forever, no matter how categorical it may sound.
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10.41 am
December 23, 2021
Thursday
(West London)
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