a letter to my bed
by gintonik
of course you know, that i had two beds in my life. and of course you know, that every time i am sleeping with you now, i am thinking of the other: let me finally introduce them to you. i know i should’ve done it earlier.
they were
a tiny princess blue sofa:
i knew them so well;
i touched every stripe on their mysteriously curved back.
i knew the landscape — and it knew me back.
they were learning from me — and they kindly created a little tonya-shaped lake, lost somewhere in the blue velvet stripes.
when i visited them last time, i was afraid that they forgot me — but the lake was still there.
you know, when we first met, your exes wanted to throw you away.
but as for an old little plushie, that was laying forgotten, depersonalized in a dumpster,
i couldn’t stand this cold-heartedness towards you:
we still can try to be friends, even if someone had already opened their tears, their sweat and the smell of their dreams to you.
i am bringing my liquids to you, and they vaporize. i know, that deep down you are also liquid. you are: a stable piece of tiny blue velvet land, that acts like a cloud: changing, big, enveloping and cold, as a dutch sky.
the shape you bring me — the shape i bring you,
is a cold mixture,
sugar-coated pill.
i am still very much afraid to occupy your space and time.
i am laying in a very tiny corner, that is somewhere in between of your soft, spatial body and harsh, bloody wall.
i am taking things slowly,
and you become more and more familiar every day.
maybe it’s just too much space for me alone
RevUU 