Ballet Dancer

I have never fancied the idea of spending my whole life in one place.

I never knew what kind of passport can help me step out of this body.

So, if you ever found me holding myself in a suitcase,

Standing in the terminal you carry beneath your bones at 5 a.m.

Please welcome me home.

Wrap your arms around me like winter does to the wind.

Make me a ballet dancer.

Forgive me when spring arrives and I stand still, forgetting how to dance.

Waiting for your touch to come with a flying leaf falling from a stubborn tree standing there not believing that seasons change.

When it rains, I go outside with an open jar of glass and I face it up to the sky believing that I can hold enough of you in it.

Winter doesn’t last forever, but somehow you do.

When I think of falling, I think of you.

But more like falling into the rabbit hole that Alice fell into and turned to be a wonderland.

More like a kid falling into the air knowing that there will be a trampoline underneath it.

What I’m trying to say is: that “to fall” is “to trust” and I trust you.

I never gave a definition of trust when was asked about it.

My therapist thinks I’m a fool for thinking that there are more than two people in the room.

How do I explain to him that your presence in me is not something to be cured.

Would you believe me if I said that when I face my hands towards the sun I see the shadow of yours holding them?

And I know,

I know enough about time to know that a shadow and a ray of light are meant to be apart.

By the end of the day, one shall be gone and one should be transferred into a moonlight.

I learned so much about the art of letting go and watching the day turn into night.

What they see as a cycle I see as a breakup.

So, I often live for those moments we steal from a day.

Two lovers sneaking out to meet halfway.

Standing on rooftops wishing on each other instead of the shooting stars.

You once told me the universe does make our wishes come true, so we just have to know how to say to


And since then I have been telling the universe about you.

You feel a lot like home.

I have been telling the homeless about you as a way of apologizing to them for not having one.

They say it takes so much courage to love.

It takes more than blood for a heart to beat faster.

And more than just hands to form a hug.

More than butterflies and anxiety wrapping a ribbon around your stomach to make you feel that your body is alive.

They say it takes more courage to let yourself, love.

They never said that when I will meet you and I breathe you in.

My lungs will finally realize what they are made for.

That hearts are not red like they taught us to color them in kindergarten.

Hearts can turn lilac-blue if they are touched by the right hands.

Hands are not even made just for coloring and waving goodbyes.

After I met you I found it hard to believe in anything I once thought is true.

I barely fear anything.

See, earthquakes do not scare me anymore when just starting to love the idea of you feels like the beginning of one.

And I know enough about change to not ever trust nature.

But how could you not stare at a passing purple cloud in the sky when it’s your first time seeing one.

How can you not plant tulips next to hope in a desert and wait for them to grow merging with each other?

How can anyone tell me that rain is just water when water makes everything around me alive.

Who is to prove that the drops of rain in my jar of glass do not belong to you.

See, what I mean is: I do not blame my therapist for not seeing you.

You see what you believe.

and you made me a believer.

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