1. Can you make me proud?
2. Can I stick around?
3. Can we all forget?
4. Can we win that bread?
5. Can we win the war?
6. A war we can’t control?
7. Can we take the trip?
8. Can we lose our grip?


My favorite music these days 
Is silence 
The one that you fill with your favorite notes
That make you cry 
That make you shy 
That speak of lands
Of criss-crossed hands. 
My favorite music these days 
I can only hear 
Private like a prayer 
Layer over layer 
Murmur over stone 
A whisper in a phone.


The guardians of each other’s solitude, Rilke once said. 
That imposes presence. 
How can you guard what is not yours to protect? 
Then I remembered, 
That solitude never belongs 
But envelops
One at a time.

Unu Noaptea, sincerități

sunt oficial
de mă doare
cu temeri de 


On and off, six times. 
Almost six cumulative years of flux and reflux. Last night was the sixth time we said goodbye. 
We share a seven, etched in ink on both of our wrists. It's a lucky number, we say. 
It's six in the evening. I'm in a lonely, quiet room and I wonder if seven will hold its power. 
Will the seventh year see us together? 
Will the seventh time be as lucky for us as we wished it to be when we marked it on our wrists?