being able to hold your hand. watching the sky
or news and never getting disappointed. ordering Chinese
food with one extra rice and celebrating another
ordinary day in October. being certain. writing you
letters, having the courage to send them from
the kitchen to the living room, having time
to look back, making bouquets from leaves,
cursing in Polish with an accent on every syllable, feeling
your smile warming my skin, wherever I am, glowing.
listening to you when you’re thinking about me in all
shades of every rainbow. birds find their way back.
home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem