instead of writing to you
I have tried to write about you
you
waited 20 years to tell me you love me
and when you did the kite tied to your wrist had already flown away
a young skydiver leading the Bulgarian disillusionist movement
seduced by the masochistic appeal
of "only the talentless require education",
(that guy who failed 9th grade physics because he
hated
the teacher too much.)
when you started losing faith in flying
you were already building your first machine.
you carried it in your pocket for days like writers carry around ideas in their minds
and it made you so heavy that it divided your landing time
in half. your parachute barely opened.
month by month, your pockets filled up with
clockwork mechanisms.
the pilots complained -
the planes got too heavy with
you on board
so they forced you to stay on the ground.
it was then that i showed up, head full of clouds and curls
and you tied my light-green ribbon to your wrist
to keep me close to you
to keep you close to open skies.
in your factory, where the machines rested
we played hide and seek
and you prayed to never lose me out of sight
but never said a word.
and then there was the storm.
