he is a poet

life keeps amusing me,

is often surprising, especially when I am bored

or sad.

life is my pill,

my therapist,

my personal trainer.

and is not doing things for free.

yesterday afternoon,

life popped up a picture on that social media web site,

that I’m using since 2010.

a guy was smoking in his profile photo

and seemed standing in snow or rain.

nice…

mine was took in the kitchen and I am wearing an old sport t shirt.

I don’t even remember

from when is in my possession.

the only effort was to braid my hair in two tails.

(is how I imagine myself as a gipsy)

SO, the man was there, the system proposed me to connect.

I dove into his wall for a while.

I was very tired, laisy, not in the mood,

but he is a poet, reason why I looked twice.

then life said to me:

do you remember the night when you drank

a tea in that bar, down town?

hell, yeah! so long ago… was 2017 or 18.

well, you were sick or something,

that’ s why the tea.

at one large table next to you,

a group of writers, poets or some kind of artists

were drinking beers, talking, laughing so loud!

aham. I don’ t remember exactly what they were talking about.

most of the time they were gossiping about others, town’s artists

who were missing at the table.

yep! and they were also advertising for their own creations.

didn’t I react somehow? I think I did.

you were soft. you only drank tea…

what a pity!
tell me, why is that relevant now?

the smoker is one of them.

oh, boy! I smiled and smiled and smiled,

while sending an add request.

now I am friend with a poet.

we are practically bound.

when I post something, I wonder if he can see

and if he can, does he understand?

I get the feeling he is not with me, on this shore .

anyway, maybe his life is surprising him too,

from time to time.