Турист

не исках да съм там където всички са били,

не исках да стъпвам в чуждите следи.

исках да ме заведеш на място, което само ти знаеш

там където гледаш сутрин изгрева и мечтаеш

защото знам как ще свършат нещата

ще ни раздели отново реката

и ще седим на моста от двете страни 

и поне един от нас ще си спомня за онези дни

другият ще продължи напред

а аз все така ще се връщам  при теб

Misspelled

You said: Till death do us apart.

The little voice inside my head whispered: Till love do us apart. What an odd mishearing I thought to myself. But what if it was just a misspelling on the stained pages of the old book. I never really thought of it.

 It was not death after all that tore us apart. It was love. The end was not in the grave, but on a rather beautiful morning. Our hearts didn't hold their hands, our souls were not dancing towards the light. Everything was breaking, crashing and falling. But, oh...it didn't kill us. It didn't put our pain away. No. It tore everything we were in pieces and spread it with the breeze. Part of me washed with the sea, and part of you spread with the wind...far away. Further than we have ever been.