When I leave you, I will burn down the flat, the coffee places where we went, all the stuff.. I will burn you too, in my thoughts. Will burn the traces of your steps. Pouraquoi pas?
Wherever we walk there’s a tiny print of us. Especially if emotions were part of the picture. Isn’t it how the ghosts appear? Somehow geographical coordinates remembers us almost as much as we remember it.
It’s simpler than it seems. If geographical emotional connection exists then it’s enough to just remember the details of that moment, and the past is here. The smells, all the thoughts and sounds, and.. How to give it away?
Here you are living in an apartment. Somebody lived there before you.
You wash your face over a bath sink, and only few years ago some girls was doing same, washing her tears away since her life was falling apart. On the same spot where you’ll be now brushing your teeth caring only about tomorrow’s breakfast.
Everybody’s leaving some sort of prints all around where he was. In one of the apartments I lived I had to move my table to another corner and had to sit on it on the left side because my butt felt it like a cheerful spot to sit on.
Burn the bridges
If I’d have a chance I’d burn cities too. Into ashes. All people there, who had any trace of those memories, as another though alive geographical moving location. How are they better?
Even people have this left-over print of you on them, on them as a some place in time, a tiny piece of you that you can never return. A field of emotions, memories and energy, thick as a country side milk.
Many people are alive only because killing others is illegal. It saves cities as well.
What is left to do is searching for another map and hiding burnt matches.