Scribbled

Another Vagabond Lost To Love - Poem

"They way I walk now

you'd have a hard time recognising me,

on these streets

where I once imagined walking with you.

Hand in hand,

like we always did,

and it never mattered where we were going

because it was all just fine.

I was always fine.

But they rest restlessly in my pockets now,

in a new town,

on these new streets,

and it's heavy to stay standing

for my body is half the size

when you're gone

and these buildings are tall and old and beautiful

and I wonder what secrets they hold.

How to stand so proud after so many years

because I'm still young but I feel worn

and I get through the days on too much caffeine and mood-altering chemicals

to stay awake long enough to make the poetry come alive.

I fall asleep on the floor with the music still playing

when my neighbour leaves for the office

and I'm jealous.

I wonder what it's like to go outside and know where to go,

know where you want to end up

and just simply go there.

I've been making lists of things I want to do,

where to go

and who to be,

now that you're gone,

and it's nice and all,

it's just ...

I'd rather write it with you,

and go there with you.

Be things

with you.

There were days when I still put on makeup

in case you'd come back,

but I wear the same clothes and shower in the rain,

eat when I can and sleep when I can,

which is rare and not often,

so if you'd see me now

on these streets

where I once imagined walking with you

you'd have a hard time recognising me.

It takes a lot to run away."

― Charlotte Eriksson: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving