For when paintings meet my words



I’ll never forget that summer. It was the last summer I visited my aunt. She was old and alone and she lived in this beautiful cottage. I remember that when I first saw it I thought that that has to be how castles look like. But it’s not the cottage that made me remember that summer, nor my aunt. It was she, a beautiful girl, with wild eyes and dreams bigger than her. She taught me how to love, and how to fly a kite. She kissed me the night before I left and all my life I searched for her lips in every kiss, only to lose her memory little by little in every woman.

Now it’s not the girl I remember, it seems like she ran from my memory, like that summer was not real, but the ruins of what was the greatest cottage reminds me that the wild-eyes-girl was as real as my young love for her.


Storm above

The storm was closing in, softly yet powerful. And I was thankful. I prayed to the storm to wash my sanity away, to wash the thought of you, to wash my whole being so I could become me again. The storm passed, and here I am, waiting for the next one to come, maybe she will listen to my prayers..





Remember the bridge? Every time we got to it, you would kiss my cheek and ran to the other side. I always thought you ran because you were afraid I would kiss your lips, but now I know better. You were running so fast so that the feelings could not get to you. That was your only fear, the fear that you might fall for me, and I would leave once autumn arrived. I did leave. And now I understand, now I’m running every time I come across a bridge, hoping you’ll be at the other end. You never are, and I am ready to stay, even if autumn comes.

the paintings belong to A.F.
thank you for letting me give them my words




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