• Poetry

    She had dimples on her cheeks

    She had dimples on her cheeks and Converse sneakers older than herself. She wore badges on a denim jacket and colorful socks. She listened to Cigarettes After Sex and read the book Shadow of the Wind in city transportation. In love with literature, and the literature with her, too. Every other day she read a new book. Many poems and books have been written about her. I guess everyone wants to meet a girl with dimples on her cheeks and to approach her, but not to be a cliché. They observed her. Many still do, but she’s not anyone’s type. She’s just beautiful. She intrigued everyone with her existence. Of…

  • Abyss of thoughts

    We will become only a photograph

    We grow up. So quickly and seamlessly, life passes before our eyes as a black and white photograph in some virtual form, too detailed, yet blurred and empty. That kind of photo we would always remember, keep, and remove dust from it. Alive and too important, worth everything and filled with everything that we are, all that we haven’t been, all that we wanted to become. It includes all those people who have either been a lesson or a gift, all those dark nights and days filled with true happiness, years of experiences, success, failure, discovering ourselves at different times as different people, but essentially the same. That photo has…

  • Prose

    Skin old like an oak tree

    Only bark has left of me, old and rough like an oak. A hollow tree that only bothers lush nature. Do you know that, here, in this creepy woods we are all equal? Peeled humans. The moment until the last fall on the earth and until the last leaf fall on the ground… fragile branches that don’t attain even a fraction of the burden. Looks worse than sawing cuts, looks that shred the roots and cut wood. Mutilated in different parts, we seem scary and unnecessary, standing here. I feel like I’m migrating from my own skin, constantly. I’m afraid that my fruits will be visible because they will be…