The love I didn’t understand,
The worry that accompanied Good Morning,
The corpses I used to call family,
The quarrels that ended in a suitcase,
And the pictures where I am no longer in the middle,
The threshold.
The friends whose names I struggle to remember,
The neighbours who had the same scent,
The stairwell that was cleaned twice a week,
The anger that cleansed itself daily.
The room that waits,
The sisters I miss.
The hazy and abject desires,
I know will now expire.
Like the days,
That have passed,
That resemble the ones before,
That I expect,
That pass without surprise,
That only leave.
And the pain they leave behind.
The pain I love,
I need,
Because I am cautious,
Because of what has not yet come,
So I can stay
Far from the others.