Sunday, March 11, 2018

A Sunday morning like all the rest

Breakfast, Pierre Bonnard (1917)

it is a fine Sunday morning
like all the rest
usually breakfast is served in a little chipped bowl 
i will smile at your photograph trapped into the bronze frame
some times 
you will smile back
some other times
you will not even notice i am sitting here
but i will not say a thing because i know 
you like it this way
and as always
it is understandable

only today
a Sunday morning like all the rest
suddenly i feel tears escaping from my eyes
not knowing from where they came
or where they go
all blur and me standing here 
struggling to discover 
the meaning of this sea behind my eyelids
maybe it is just an allergic reaction 
an eye infection or dust or the sun...
or maybe it was my reflection in the mirror when i woke up
i looked at it hopping to find you on the other side
but there was nothing 
only a forgotten shirt thrown on a chair
and last night's kisses 
on the floor.... 

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