Sunday, October 27, 2013


I want to write about you.
I want to capture your smile in a phrase.
I want to imprint on paper characters that reflect your gentle eyes.
I want to draw a diagram with the pulse of my heartbeat when I first met you.
I want to record the melody that you whispered once in the dark.
I want to paint with colours our first kiss.
I want to chronicle the stories we used to share and laugh.
I want to list our precious memories and secrets that nobody knows. 

But I can’t. 

I don’t remember your smile; I can only recall a mouth terribly shut.
I don’t remember your eyes, you looked down before the silence.
I don’t remember the pulse of my heartbeat; its sound changed the next moment.
I don’t remember the melody you whispered, its rhythm is locked in my mute world.
I don’t remember our first kiss; its sweetness was removed by a bitter slap.
I don’t remember our stories, the last dark one won the battle and killed the rest.
I don’t remember our memories and secrets, they are kidnapped by my future. 

But there are times that the past haunts my soul and a kiss from tomorrow resurrects my mouth.

And these times, my typewriter becomes an armchair; she invites me to sit down softly on her keys and beg me to talk.

These times, I recount and she writes. 
About all those old tales that are now covered by dust and those new that look at me with a tempting smile.

These times, my name is Afrodite Janus. 

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