My room is full of dead flowers.
Death is more alluring than life.
No wonder people write about it so often.
Dry petals on the floor.
Why bother picking them up?
Why would I?
Who came up with this concept?
Flowers are to be thrown away when dried.
Who came up with this aesthetic?
Pour water in it.
It won’t come back to life.
But you already knew that.
With flowers you know that eventually it will die.
No matter what you do, it’s nature.
Sooner or later the circle of life kicks in.
The old leafs fall down and the new ones come out.
Sometimes it just dies forever.
Love does not work like that.
You go in, you hope it will last forever.
You keep pouring your heart in.
It does. Love does last forever.
But you have to keep picking flowers.
Not every rose is enchanted.
I was yours. Until a moment ago.
I lit my cigarette and I close my eyes for a second.
The last warm rays of sun are touching my skin,
however it’s freezing outside.
Open. You are gone.
I barely remember your blue eyes.
I remember running my fingers through your hair.
But I am me again. The me I was looking for. The me,
you took away. With your sweet words and soft fingers.
I am staying me for a bit.
On my right, there is a man, practically laying on the
ground. He’s asking the people around if someone
has a cigarette. Someone gave him one. I wasn’t really
looking, I even had my headphones in but he caught
my attention so I put my music down.
– How old are you? He was asking the students who
gave him the fag.
– We’re young.
– HAHA, Do you know how old I am, come on take a
The students didn’t say anything.
– Im 147. You are wondering how?! I don’t look that
old do I.
I wish I could turn around and look at their faces but
he probably would have dragged me into the
conversation as well, so I didn’t.
He kept going on how he was following the Gregorian
calendar and apparently he had a birthday 4 times a
year. Correct me if I am wrong, we all use that calendar.
I tried to keep my giggle inside and not make a sound.
He kept going. He had a guitar and even though he looked
homeless, he seemed pretty happy.
The students didn’t keep up with the conversation so after
another minute he stopped talking. He took his guitar and
started playing, enjoying his cigarette.
Apparently the Gregorian is almost right. Almost. It is,
however 27 seconds too long, so it is off by 1 day every
I wonder what was going on in this crazy head of his.
2018 is already peaking. Only 3 weeks ago I had no idea
we would get the chance to meet so soon again. And here
I am. Back in my beloved Lisbon.
Warmth in January is an unknown concept for me. I need
We are staying at the Hotel Imperial. I walk into our room
and pull the curtains. A 180 degree view opens in front of
of the Praca dos Restauradores. I feel like I am in a movie.
3 years ago when I first visited Lisbon I never thought it
would have so much impact on me – Pessoa, fado, Alfama,
the portuguese sun. There’s a copy of Pessoa’s poems on the
nightstand. It’s in portuguese but I like going through the
It gets even better from here. Sitting on the little french
balcony while the sun is slowly going down. I can still see
the beautiful pink buildings across, specifically the EDEN
theater. I have probably passed this place 20 times but it
didn’t make an impression on me for some reason. My
name is Raya, means paradise, Eden.
It’s the small things, the coincidences that make our lives
a bit more romantic and magical.
I find myself constantly engaging with love.
I think about love.
I talk bout love.
I read about love.
Falling in and out of it. So different every time.
And quite literally falling in it.
Sometimes I kind of predict the trap and run away before I fall.
But I also don’t mind. Nobody seems to mind.
I love staring in people’s eyes, but I don’t seem to be able to look into yours.
I feel so shy at once. It’s like if I give you access to my eyes You might see something,
you are not necessarily allowed to see.
So I keep kissing you with my eyes closed.
Bukowski ones said that love is a dog from hell. To be honest I love dogs and I don’t
really believe in heaven or hell. But then again I am quite curious about how
hell would look like. Shouldn’t be that bad, right?
From horizon to horizon the sky was unbroken spread of stars.
No, it’s not the cosmos, and no, it isn’t an Olaf Stapleton book, it’s my bathtub and it’s the last time I lay in it. The stars in it is the glitter of the bath bomb I bought from Lush. You would be surprised how far these colours can take your imagination.
Now it’s just me, the deep blue water with its sparkles and the piano of Ludovico Einaudi in the background.
I close my eyes and dive back in the water. All of a sudden it hit me. I almost had a pre-death experience. That feeling of ending one life and starting a new one, the same feeling I had 13 months ago when I moved into this house. There I was, literally diving in my memories. I see every single person who took part in my life through the last year. Friends, family, lovers. I have been dreading having to leave the home I created here in so short but I also still believe that the moment something or someone become so convenient or comfortable then it is probably right moment to move on, basically before it all goes to shit.
The dramatic violin starts and I turn on the flush. The bath is slowly emptying out and my body emerges from above. My space and the stars that come with it are gone, however I feel very empowered. Some of the glitter has stuck on my skin and that I know are the stars that will stay in my orbit, now matter where I am. I am ready not only to create another space for me but to go on crazy intergalactic journeys.
I have packed my bags and I am moving out, funny thing is I don’t actually have a new home yet. I am gonna go have a beer before I catch the train to Amsterdam, who knows maybe I will meet some new stars on the way.