When The Sun Goes Down

when I look at your photograph
I’m silent
I haven’t seen you in months
I stopped talking about you

I remember that forest
and that glade
where we were laying
in the tall grass
I was laughing and telling
how good it’s to have you close again

you were holding my hand
I won’t hurt you
- were telling

you didn’t hurt me
left without a word
without a letter
without a gesture

I found an empty envelope
and empty house

and poems about you
the whole box


I was waiting for you

You didn’t come.

I was writing to you

I didn’t get a respond.

I was talking to you

I didn’t hear your voice.

I was saying your name
you didn’t say my name even once.

I was here

I still am

But you aren’t.

Where are you?

Maybe you are laughing now.
Maybe you are thinking about me. About her.
Maybe you are driving by train,
with your head based on the glass.
Maybe you are writing something; a poem or a letter,
maybe you will never send it.


Maybe you will come later?
I don’t think about it anymore;
maybe I don’t believe it now.

You weren’t here lately,
maybe you were once,
a few weeks ago
But you aren’t now.
I don’t see tomorrow day;
will it be the same as yesterday?
I will spill my coffee.
I will cross out a sentence in my notebook.
I will laugh a few times.
And fall asleep. Maybe.

If you think about me sometimes,

don’t forget about a smile;

If you hear my name,

don’t worry too much;

I am here.

And will be.

But now,

I am closing my eyes.


Will I still be the same person,
when I stop writing?
When I stop capturing thoughts,
inventing new stories, that will never happen anyway?
I don’t like unreal things,
read and write.
I like reality
and everything what is true.
What happened,
what is happening,
and what will happen.
I never think,
that something may happen.
"Maybe" is too big word,
which one can change everything.
I love you.
Maybe I love you.
I am.
Maybe I will be.


so you’re
you are you are
not here
but you’re
you are you are

how much do I know about you;
hard to say
as if you were anywhere
but no
you are not

I recall the picture of you
I see you
just like the first day
when I ran onto you
and you were; I thought you will be
but no
you are not

why aren’t you here
for the asking
although you were
I saw you
I felt you
and now

I completely forgot
the day when you told me everything
it was snowing
what else?
it’s too late.

(Source: puneruh)


Lima, Peru. 


Lima, Peru. 

(via pntlss)

message / archive / theme

Aleksandra, 16, from Poland.
Photography, literature, art.

“Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we're quoting.” ―John Green