Bright (19.8.2020)

I called you today, Bright

You didn’t answer and I hoped you’d call me back. You didn’t.

I finished reading my book

feeling your absence from the cover to the last page, measuring the space between me and my wall where I used to hold you, not my pillow, and the smell of the paper replacing your unique scent that was

Lemon and peach, bittersweet.

Bright, you came back to your city

Where you belong, and stopped posting photos of yourself and your lovers

quit smoking and gave away your guitar

I was the only one who played your guitar anyway

You never read my poetry, "lame", you used to say

And that should’ve been a warning

but I wasn’t really listening, I was composing, ordering a meal waiting in your apartment no air conditioner, sweat and tears, hot summer, wide-opened windows, wild rush outside two beers at the refrigerator a 2$ small chocolate bar melting in the kitchen and you.

You who never arrived. Bright, you see, you made me mad because your nature was indifferent, displeased and reluctantly aware

that my eyes were perverted and I become evil by your side. You liked that power, more than you liked me.

You made me swear I’d love my poetry and my art more than I loved you.

And I tried.

And I try.

Bright

Last week I saw you on netflix, you were speaking your native language and I watched you saying things to this boy that you have never said to me. 13 episodes. You did it for money and for fame, for that was what you truly sought. I know. I knew. Yet it was strange, so against your nature. To see you play this role, being kind, caring and loving...so tricky, it shocked me. It is true that your eyes were wild and your smile wasn’t much seen. It went well with your character and you played it so fine that you have a legion of fangirls now. If they could only know how fucked up you truly are.