IF STRANGERS MEET ( french love grows in Prag)

The French love affair in praha…
The memories are one of a kind and although Im still a little hung up on my French love I intend to get over it soon but that being said why can’t I write about how we meandered the streets of Praha, kissed by the Astronomical Clock in Staromestske Namesti , the escalator ascending to his residence of Karlovo Namesti and on all the trams we possibly could in Prague. I want to get over it and writing passionately surely would not aid the aforementioned objective. Yet , on the other hand why should I trivialize an amazing part of my life, that is now gone. Like a photograph it will be crystallized in words, and I assure you photographs too. The last text message I received from him read: “ A farewell kiss for my little americanrusse girl from Prague. Stay in touch. Gros bisous”
The rest of his texts have been deleted on my phone since new ones have been sent from others. The last night was among the best, it actually began the night before the night in question. It was his good bye pub gathering with friend. I came to meet him around 10pm with Johanna. It was at a bar called Jamayka in Andel , and the only thing vaguely referencing Jamaica was the flag on the wall. We had split a gin and tonic, I was tipsy. I wanted to be drunk, because I thought the farewell would indeed sting the open wounds in my heart. But then I decided to pretend like this was just any night and not assign a countdown, this would have ruined the atmosphere. Also I wanted to be positive and happy for my Frenchboy. We took shots of Czech rum, which was so overly sweet and then we just chatted at the table. He was wearing a matted button down with light blue stripes sporadically verticalling themselves down, Abercrombie reminiscent style. His brown chest hairs peeked out to remind everyone that he is a mn even though his eyes still have the young boy zealous , in awe of everything , pure glee. Perchance is was that gleam reflected in his deep brown eyes at night and hazel in the sun that made me fall for him. The language barrier existed , yes, and made it challenging to talk about any dialectical, epistemological philosophical concepts. Otherwise everything we worked through, love has no lanuguage we spoke with our eyes to convey the deeper things, and that is how I liked it.

a closed Aperture

Air blows through me,
Hazel eyes subdue me,
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if strangers meet

if strangers meet
life begins-
not poor not rich
(only aware)
kind neither
nor cruel
(only complete)
i not not you
not possible;
only truthful
-truthfully,once
if strangers(who
deep our most are
selves)touch:
forever

(and so to dark)

- e.e cummings

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[somewhere i have never travelled]


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

-e.e. cummings