'name''agnese''gutovska' 'photogrpahy''lifestlye' 'fashion' />

23 June 2017


Why am I so strongly attached to the feeling of nostalgia and melancholy? 
I just got home. Got comfortable in in my tidy lovely room -as of yesterday. If my room is clean I can be in a clear state of mind too, in theory. I'm trying anyway. Just cycled back from Bianca's pub, where we sat, drunk and smoked chatting about our soon near future plans of moving in together, boys and girls and other things. Now I am sitting in bed literally naked from the heat. I have just written a poem.
About right now,
And about my last two weeks.
But in the way that I feel about in
In this moment and time.
Hopefully, you get something out of it.

Bye. x

Cycling down past Cambridge Heath and London Fields
Blurry eyed I sing out loud
Eyes half closed
To feel the danger
The fragility of life
The music brings me back to state of mind
To before
I feel so close 
Yet am a million miles away

Nothing in particular
To feel so blue about
Forever a fluorescent tint 
To the book, you read and imagine
Even in happiness
I'm brushing past time
Floating through space
As always in a daydream
My mind is neither here nor there
In his and her bed
I exist truly
In the moment

Grasping opportunities
Fucking things up
In my bed I sleep alone tonight
Get a little high 
Wake a little late
In a lake of possibilities
Reminded of reality
Nothing to lose now

I get through this day
Attaching my self to things
To places and maybes
I pour my souls and breaths 
Into conversations
For hopes for the future
That carry me forward

But time
Which turns into a blurry dream
a bubble only burst by precious 
and guilt
and love
and sex
and kisses

Makes me ask
But what is love?
I take it in 
Like a breath
A necessity to keep me alive
And feeling
Or not
I'm in a shell
Only breakable by a spell
When I love I'll know

He's far too close
She's far too far
Her ways of being 
Is the most complicated of easy
Yet tangled in her guts 
I'm dragging the iron anchor
To the sea
Where we will make love
Probably again and again
And the bed
Becomes a place of a dream
Felt but not truly remembered
We are just fucking around
Running away from life and its burdens
Two lost souls
Pouring intoxicating liquids into cups
Trying to make it
In our heads
Feeling guilty, lost and bored
We make bad decisions
High and drunk
But not always
Its fun
Because life is too short
To be too good

And so things are fixed
For right now
Still the feeling of content
And safety
Carries on
As a blue, nonexistent feeling in my stomach