Missing U, old chaotic life.
I’m missing you, my dear chaotic life. My endless nights with ridiculous dances on dirty dancefloors. Missing you, dear word “now”. Missing to walk alone, missing to sit alone, missing to drink alone. You made me laugh and made me cry. You offered me ten thousand paths to walk on. You offered me sadness and madness. You comforted me with the bittersweet taste of independence and foolishness. You lulled me to sleep with the buzzing and hissing of big cities, with the sour, furry taste of red wine and too many cigarettes. You entertained me with momentous conversations, spit me out at weird places, finding myself out-growing myself.
My dear old chaotic life, sometimes I’m missing you so much I can barely breath. This little itchy panic is scratching at the back of my mind from time to time, when I’m enviously watching the others drifting, wandering, dancing. When I’m listening to their stories about too much wine and dirty dancefloors, about buzzing and hissing.
But you could never sooth me with the perfection of that moment when I’m watching him sleep. When his head is resting on my shoulder. His breath on my cheek. You could never make me feel that way I feel when he’s smiling at me about silly things. When for the twentieth time he’s trying to conquer the bathroom. Seeing so many first times in a so young life, watching real enthusiasm, true curiosity, genuine love.
I’m dancing on dirty kitchen floors, now. Still ridiculous. Never walking alone again, never sitting alone again. He makes me laugh and makes me cry, I courage him to be independent and foolish, lull him to sleep with buzzing and humming, show him weird places and help him to out-grow himself.
That’s my new love, my dear old life.