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ESPRESSO POETRY

Coffee-powered musings of a Romanian living in London

Updated: Dec 19, 2019

Latte.


To feel a part of something

while feeling apart from yourself.

Drifting on the sea of your

disintegrated consciousness,

collecting stranded pieces of stories,

trying to compile yourself

from things which are now stranger and farther from you

than ever.

It's all so beautiful,

it's all so cursed,

it's all you ever, never

wanted.




Updated: Oct 8, 2019

Flat white.

It's a horrible thing to experience.


All the possibilities.

All the roads.

Unable to move,

blinded by the lights,

you feel like you don't have enough time

to stretch your soul

just like a pastry dough.

It's nighttime in London

and you feel displaced

in the worst and the best of times.

It's been nighttime for you for a long time.


And you see a light

And you freak out,

Blinded,

Bonded.




Double espresso.



Stories are not a one way street

and my small hands

need other hands to write

and other minds to read

and other places to grow.

I guess stories can end

where loneliness begins.

I guess it takes guts

To try again every time.

I guess it gets just to tiring

to never stop pretending

you're just here for a limited time

when you know stories go on forever.

It's a way of being immortal.

Who can ever deal with that

on their own?


Drop me a line. Will get back to you after I've had my coffee.

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