en grisa oulla giro mas

tse eno ego kathe mera oulli mera grafo grafo grafo tes agrafes skepsis sta gri pezodromia. lalite gi afto nan gri? lalite na grafoun ti egine pou estripsa dexia anti aristera pou en sas ixera pou en me xerete i gia ti mera pou ekatalava ego oti mpori na ime hromatisti tse oi diafani?





A man cut from the future
is waiting for me in the rain.
The walls are undressed
and left like a child,
the past is packed for transit
in its familiar box. Later I ask him
did you know I would find you?
am I no longer alone?
He kisses me among the selves
that never made it this far.

[Flowers - Polly Clarke]