Love is that one kiss on the forehead as the sun beams into little ponds formed by the rain filling our foot marks in the forest,
warmth after a cold morning,
sharing the last cigarette with coffee in the garden,
a plunge in strong memories igniting lost fire,
crying together in a Hungarian tavern,
calls running late into the night,
a private diary page opened,
building,
tormenting,
anticipating,
thirst and water,
loosing and finding faith,
drunk kissing,
in the dark,
caught,
fear,
coming back home and silent prayer on the steps of a locked church,
away,
a riddle,
a longing for more,
a night at the movies,
yellow flowers on a cloudy day,
a purple star that does not exist,
closer,
first kiss,
expectations,
a night trip by the bus,
small box in woolen thread,
light auburn hair and teddy bear,
an Indian restaurant somewhere,
drinking on the left side of the Rhone,
highest road over mountains and room with a view to the stars
tram 28, two glasses of Porto and Fado,
left –
the pain,
the questions,
“Talk to me!”,
a rock concert at the Eiffel tower,
the trip,
the visits,
the mother,
her daughter,
one last kiss to say goodbye,
brunch in the city of painters,
new year in Paris,
“On the Road”,
September the 30th
…
…
“Happy Holidays Stardust!”