Wounded, you count
the things that haven't gone your way,
always and only fearing to look worse
than what you truly know how to be.
Precise calculations
that remind you of the glances you've avoided
and the many words you haven't pronounced
out of fear of risking and failing at it.
The house, the entire day,
the journey you've travelled
to feel more certain and closer to yourself,
but no, it won't suffice.
All lives slip by
as if they were the cold mornings when you wrap yourself
against your shame.
You slip by again
as if
you didn't wait for anything but surprising all those absent
and distracted faces that don't understand your silence.
There's a world of attempts behind the transparent eyes
that you will close.
You feel again the tip of
the courage you lack
and that lowers your eyes in a second
and makes your reasons invisible.
You count again
the days that you knew they couldn't wait for you.
You shut many doors you can no longer open,
and you can no longer hug what you no longer have.
Your house, your clothes, the party
and your long-gone smile that returned later
only for loving yourself a bit
and loving yourself a bit longer.
All lives slip by
as if they were the cold mornings when you wrap yourself
against your shame.
You slip by again
as if
you didn't wait for anything but surprising all those absent
and distracted faces that don't understand your silence.
There's a world of attempts behind the transparent eyes
that you will close.
And you no longer want mistakes
but you want to live more
because those who do not live leave
the trace of their greatest mistake.
All lives slip by
as if they were the cold mornings when you wrap yourself
against your shame.
You slip by again
as if
you didn't wait for anything but surprising all those absent
and distracted faces that don't understand your silence.
There's a world of attempts behind the transparent eyes
that you will close.
That I will close.
That you close.