Burnt bridges, hiatus


My offshore travel didn’t happen at all last week. More than two years living in Argentina and I still hope things will happen when they are planned to happen. No offense meant.

Everything seems
to be on hold,
as if time itself would bend
towards itself, to keep unsatisfaction
at the highest peak of the past months.

Might be the reason of my sore throat,
or my bleeding nose,
always resurfacing.
Me unknowing of its meaning, like tricks
of light bouncing off imaginary objects.

Sometimes I fear that seasonal
could become random,
-but wouldn’t that be, a gratifying thought?,
probably for everyone
holding hopes for the inexplicable;
finding meanings
in meaningless phenomena.

Dash. A link between nonsense.

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