chameleonian times

lost my phone
since yesterday
the kept messages from the ones I loved
- gone -
and the ones from the one I love more than I should
- gone -
it's so ordinary it's extraordinary
songs to avoid screams in the neighbourhood

free-fall diver
in pain(t)

(so this is attachment)





"Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, 
sings the pebbles into perfection."

- Rabindranath Tagore

Perfection
- illusion when a phone is lost -
as it is, beyond loss, 
is none of our current business
because of kissing the earth 
some-one walk(s) on
works
like perfect.

Days later:
found it behind a grey ball.

I had forgot to miss it, the loss, the memories, the attachment.