Starbucks before takeoff

The weekend begins with your smile at a frozen yoghurt. You mix the doughs, batter the eggs, and bury my emotional motion sickness. The arrival of cappucino e brioche on your gingham obliterates our dark times of May and June. After 25 seconds of diligence, I think about your smile, the synchronous smile at the school bell, and the waves of rollercoasters that summated my second degree in 4 years. Before I leave for fencing, you whisper like our first eye contact during a sandbox session. Just come a little closer. Natural sights and the people who bark at your attempts at search  Won't follow you to the fences where I prayed to get myself up on my own two feet.  Can't wait to see you again at Arco della Pace.

At 9 in the evening, the sunset wraps around my summer walk toward the grey apartments. Each gentle step up the stairs washes away my pride, and my smile forgets the world of Instagram likes. Nine floors later, a door waits for my knock. When it opens, your smile and embrace melt away the years that kept us apart. Your grey coat and calming scent feel like peace itself. You hold me close, and in that closeness, my hard-won independence quietly dissolves into tears. Thank you for coming all the way here to Kharkiv.  You trusted my goal of finding a way for us to see each other in person. Loneliness whispered wild doubts, urging me to let go of my faith in you, But the moments of small prayers were heard in warmth. My unmotivated mornings, My meaningless lunchbox, My jealousy towards the couples, Didn't give me the love I wanted,  But you were special to me and will forever be.

I sit on a stove and talk to the walls. Cardboard boxes join me in the tunnels that drop me to the floor. Napalm skies dye the blues in my face, and my thoughts smell the Bermuda Triangles. Bread on a bedrock, milk on the coffins. Shattered glasses rain like confetti, and I stop. I hear footsteps drifting like three fingernails scratching on a blackboard. An entice, a spark, but a colleen in a white floral dress, brown boots. Epic blue eyes, breathtaking cascades of blonde hair, touché. Citrus, woody, oriental-looking bracelets jingle, and a jaw-dropping smile. You bewilder: You know, it feels like every single time I go to a party, I feel like a waitress. A waitress who doesn't talk back to the commands of an artist.  An artist who doesn't know how to color empathy. Empathy that doesn't exist in a society that never minds poverty. Poverty that keeps us grateful. Grateful that I see you again.

 A woman in white delights in me with a smile on my first day as an intern at Google. Camaflouged apple logos and the glistening white, crystal-clear rectangles ease my footsteps to my desk. I smell the Post-Its and the plays that play the delete buttons. I white-screen my thoughts to the yearbooks that transpired the excitement of my first crush on Skype. You approach me in a smile with a note. I think you made the team. You were quite fast.

Books of valuers and wooden squares find myself in your bedroom I've been dreaming about. White shirt and jean shorts, whilst the flicker of your blonde hair prolonged my mind to places of profound nostalgic incense. Your parents step in. On their hands are the letters of obliged pepper mint green ice cream and a bucket of blazed marbles, inviting us to look into the dark windows. You grab my arm for a prophetic conjecture of the final step from the cameras. Your hand leads me to the piers and your calmness virgorates by the endless, dark, Black Sea. Zero feet between you and me; you look at me with your ferocious blue eyes, and this time, you lean on my right shoulder. Many people have refused to talk to me. Many people have ignored my texts. Many people have spoken to me in languages I didn't understand. I pray that we will escape loneliness. I pray that we will wipe our tears and Pray in the language of divine love.

A view of an Irish turquoise-blue sky knocks on the crown of my forehead for a fresh new start. Neptune glazes, and the drizzling echoes delight my mind at divine perfection. A moment of silence is observed as rain kisses my chin, and the prayer begins. The tempest and the English capitals wash the contemptuous lies and regrets on my cheeks, so that the reminders of uncertainty are under control, my soul and my mind align in the power of concentration. I appreciate the World and the creation, whilst both my hands gesture my gratitude for the sublime cold of happiness. When I open my eyes, the gaze of your blue eyes from the other side of the pier gives me a sign to celebrate my birthday at 3 am. Long white dress, the heels of juvenile footsteps fathom the reasons to stay present in the third stanza. My heart races as your blonde hair touches my forearms, then you start the countdown, as you cover my eyes with your cold hands. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for waiti...