It was a rainy winter day when we walked hand in hand to a poet’s house. We walked in zig-zag to avoid the smoke from some BBQs along the way.
We found number 203 or “the house of the wanderers”, as they named it. He got himself a coffee and I got myself a ginger tea.
“The heart will always tell us where to find refuge. Although tomorrow people might be far away … “
As the song went by, I told him:
“You know what? This is probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever done. How come it only happens when we are no longer lovers?”
“Because we were lovers and worst friends. You could write beautifully, but you could never talk about your feelings.”
“Oh well, otherwise I might have been a politician by now.”
I have never doubted the most romantic thing I could ever do – to drag the lover to “the house of the wanderers”. However, I wasn’t sure about him…
“Let’s go, buddy!” – I put my favourite book back to the shelf, I wanted to gift it to someone else another day.
We then walked hand in hand under the winter rain.
“Let’s love each other another way. Let’s love each other another away. Rivers have drifted, forests have changed…”