Tamara Stamenkovic
  • They are already dead, but they don’t know it

    Sometimes I hear only the echo of what I intended to write. A cry from the desolation I leave behind when I have nothing more to give. And that cry turned into an echo, it soon disappears into the distance. And I can’t stop the silence after, because only silence triggers my quietness. It’s quite…

  • An empty frame in the museum of art

    Do you remember that (not)important day? I made a fool of myself at an art museum standing in a blank frame, trying to look intellectual. You looked at me, surely thinking: “Crazy or lost?“. And you didn’t laugh at me, but at the painting next to me. I went home in a blind rage, thinking:…

  • Don’t make my words get out

    Don’t make my words get out, because I won’t tell you what you want to hear. Don’t think you have that power to overtake me when I’m weak and use it for your purposes. You won’t be able to win me over, you won’t hear what you need – I will not boost your ego…

  • There are two people left in the pictures, turned into a memory

    Material things don’t matter, do they? However, there’s an obvious thread that connects them with emotions, with memories awakened inside two people which are no longer one being. When they grow apart and everyone goes their own way, although the paths are unfamiliar, they leave and what’s left behind are the remains of all those…

  • It tears you that she’s first to tear you apart

    If we reap what we sow, if karma is real, if we give back what we give, then the heavy chain around her neck is her making. And silence is her consequence, and the absence is her creation. You just stepped into the mud in which she raised herself from marble. All her dead illusions…

  • The distance

    The distance between us isn’t easy to calculate using miles or kilometers, fathoms, or with light-years. This distance is lively, fragile, a fluid thing, the transition between us and our life after us. Sometimes you’re so far away, as the farthest, egocentric star still visible by my modest telescope. To others, we separated by the…

  • Wrong time

    It’s hard to believe that there’s a wrong time for the right people. I want to believe that the time was right with you. Maybe I want to convince myself that we weren’t the wrong people. Or that we were the right people to meet at the wrong time. I want to believe that. That…

  • See you next Friday

    Between the parallels of touch and the unclear flow of words, do you have any awareness at all about how you tear someone else’s skin with nails as if you created it and say that you don’t like its rough surface? The world leaves you with space at the edge of your mind for just…