.

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Montag, 11. Februar 2013


she no longer 
daydreamed 
of sunsets 
nor of a man on a 
white horse 
nor of miracles 
nor of dancing till 
dawn 
nor tantrums
nor true confessions 
nor her lover 

she only imagined cities 
who’s cafes she could write in 
a table and chair she could 
inhabit
with her pen and paper
scribble her thoughts down
drink a glass of wine 
and let the rhymes take 
her away 

she would live her life 
simply 
by walking to the café 
to her table and back 
then walk from her table home 
to a solitary life, of her cats 
and books and paintings 
and poetry 

she knew that this 
was what she wanted 
when she woke in 
the morning 
after brushing her hair 
and feeding her cats 
she would put on her shoes 
roll down her socks 
grab her pen and notebook 
and walk down to 
the café 
she felt a warm feeling 
of home 
not at home 
but within 
herself 

(L. K. Thayer)