پایتخت.

For Tehran • برای تهران

i still remember
the colors of the sky
at dawn
when i was leaving
the city that pains me
whether to live in
or to leave it.
the city where i feel
both alive and suffocated.
the city where i feel
most at home
hand in hand
with my loved ones
and also lost
among all the chaos.
the city where i feel
so big and free
no longer a child
boundless, unstoppable
and also so small
scared and fragile
terrified of the crowded streets
and monstrous buildings.
the city where i feel
some kind of ecstasy
for it is, i believe
a secondhand new york
a worn-out one
with much less love
on its streets
with empty pockets
and emptier dreams
and shitty cigarettes.
i still remember
the rhythm of my heartbeat
when i first laid eyes
on my friends
their beautiful happy faces
their teeth-revealing smiles
their long inviting hands
automatically wrapped
around my whole being
keeping me close
to their pumping hearts.
i still remember
the rush of blood
to my cheeks
when they were kissed
by them
by strangers who were anything
but strangers.
i still remember
the moment i opened that door
to find you behind it
and you were there
not a dream
not a mental image
the very you
standing
smiling
with a cigarette
between your fingers
and a backpack
by your feet
that didn't look so heavy.
free as a dandelion
waiting for me
to embrace you
to inhale your skin
and make your golden hair
move lightly
using my breath.
i still remember
how i put my heart
on yours
holding you closer
than my clothes
shedding tears
as you were smoking
your cigarette
with your free hand.
i still remember
the first hello we said
and the last goodbye
that we didn't.
helpless me
clinging to you
trying to stop time
trying to cast a spell
that stops the separation
red-eyed you
patting my back
smoking your cigarette
with your free hand
whispering in my ear
"don't make it any harder than it is"
i still remember
the colors of the sky
at dawn.
it was five in the morning
i was right in the middle of
nowhere
far from the city
i somehow love
far from the city
i somehow hate
floating in between
in a white bus
surrounded by
sleeping strangers
who know nothing
about the lives i lived
and the loves i loved.

Twin Peaks (1×2) • David Lynch

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