Coffee-powered musings of a Romanian living in London

Updated: Oct 8, 2019

Flat white. You're here because there's

absolutely no other way. All the other

roads are closed.

All the other options

are hidden in a magician's trunk

who does not know he is a magician.

You're here with

your arms like pillows

and dreams like birds

and eyes like dreams of birds.

You look in the mirror and you're

just as you imagined yourself

that day, at the crossroads.

You're also someone you don't recognise

and are also very awkward around.

You being here,



is inevitable.

Take this confusion and drop it in an ocean,

let all the others coming after you

swim after it,

gather it,

absorb it and then polish it.

Make it a diamond on the crown of this

only world possible.

Cold Brew. Come over here and

say it again.

Say it to my face,

say it to my back and

say it to my hands,

the hands used to watching over you

and under you

and all around.

Say it to the mountains on my heart

and to the clouds I dream in.

Say it to the thread

that connects us

which starts at my lowest and

ends at your highest.

The tightest line

on which hope does its little dance.

Flat White.

A dream:

I forgot everything,

simple, no-nonsense things.

I forgot how to sew a button,

how to knit and

how to clean a potato with only a blunt knife.

I forgot how to say hello to strangers,

how to walk on ice,

how to do the crazy dance on the sidewalk

when you almost run into people

but not quite. I wake up and whimper.

I did forget:

I forgot how to fake all of this realness.

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