when the world falls upon its axis

A blonde in white-green pyjamas waves at me right in front of Starbucks. Your messy hair grabs my attention. When our gaze meets, you drag your Converse on the floor like a nail on a chalkboard. Then, your playful smile rejoices, a wink, a few eye drops for a better view. Exhilarating orange blossoms and the entry bell jingle at the sound of your notification bell. Your mom.  Your light footsteps dazzle back to my car and come back to me without your eyes open, just a plain endorsement with a T.  24 minutes later, you matcha your phone and cream your charger, with your left fingertips on your lips. You plug it into my carrot cake and your phone inside my pocket. You stare into my eyes this time, trying to figure out my story.  The waitress asks for a charger. The exchange rewards a ring. Followed by an innocent handshake.  You walk towards me, the next countdown, with your cold hands on my eyes, and your left cheek of my right. Looking for the moment of tears, I reme...

The war-gliding, brutal heat steam-fields the arena for the battle star. Agonizing pain filters through the sheets of Orlando City, tormenting the crowd beneath 90 degrees of relentless sun. What we call animals gives me a shoulder check and a fist against my cheeks. Beer and blood—the engraving dizziness nourishes my sense of hope for an equalizer for the Prides: 0-1 Royals. Guilt clicks; time is still running. A pass from Marta, and another from Banda. Then a waving bleach washes over the stands. Sara the riot. Lions of Judah.  You sprint into the final script of the rectangles. Against the last 2 minutes of relentless pressure, you strike the ball as though it were your first chance. The crowd erupts; an equalizer carves its line into history. You dash toward my fist pump—a dab, then a high-five—until our foreheads meet in sweat and tears. Your blonde smile, and your heart four before overtime. Don't let the furies and false beliefs break your heart in despair.  Whatever br...

A peace of mind renounces my sense of rally on a regular Saturday morning. Nine o'clock. At the On store. A pair of tennis shoes. I see a lady, ethereal,  bouncing back from an appeal. An exchange of superiorities oil-paint my white agenda in turquoise prisms. The clothing section features the colors of Benetton, a palette I have been obsessed with since 2008. Basilico and biscotti brunch, my flattery of your invitation. A selfie. Eyes closed—cute—but your blush doesn't lie about your reaction when you grabbed my hand at the retro party. You send me a line of wisdom at 9:44 am. Messy colors and the coincidences on my canvas are the plexicushions that carried us into the arenas. The late nights and the early mornings,  We uncovered the lies inside five setters, Only to make camp on the hard courts for seven hours. How about we build another one there in London?

 A polity of flowers. A foundation of fantasies that idealizes my footsteps upon my arrival at the Arlanda Airport. Taco Bell, letting the tray of fika and folktales follow my gaze towards my welcome sign. All smiles, after a depressing 16-hour flight, I enclose a gift in a handshake with the guilds; hence, celebrating my acceptance to the university. Volvo chassis fuses my index finger in froid, as you brush my shoulder to my wrist. Maigre's white sweater, a bandana, and a glistening razor-cut wavy blonde hair hijack my anxiety levels to love. You, a tennis star, are here to give me an autograph. I spent millions of dollars to serve bombs at my windows.  A little bit of sweat, a bit of sleek geometries, greened me to make it to the top 16. Anxieties of mental furniture deserted my 16 personalities  That pied me into princesstårta on my 16th birthday. Popcorn the past with a serve-och-volley, visualisera.

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.