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Updated: Oct 10, 2019

Men and women

crawl into

unfamiliar beds

looking for themselves

inside foreign bodies

they see how beautiful they are

from the outside

and then fall in love

with themselves

for the first


The morning after

they wake up with breaths

smelling of hunger

and hormones

they clink their teeth

uncomfortably kissing

and between the sounds of

‘’hmm’’ and ‘’ah”,

they say goodbyes

and never meet again

Women walk quickly

with their last change

and their last shames

of a Saturday

and men walk slowly

with their jacket on their shoulder

and sweat turning

white sleeves yellow

as they head back

to their unboiled spaghetti

unpaid bills

and gym subscriptions

Men whistle and women giggle shyly


they fall in love

and share their clothes

and their toothbrush

and go to bazaars on Sundays

and meet the parents

they name their kids

and look for a house

and a new bread maker

but they never

have kids

and they never

eat together

They go through phases

of self-discovery

with the help of

pessimistic thoughts,

fumes from the past

and a few bottles

of Casillero del Diablo.

And the days

are going by

and the months

are going by

and the years

are going by

and past becomes present

because there is



in reality


and the future is

still too far.

So men drink more

and smoke more

and get tired more

and women

get out of the shower

covering their nakedness

with a towel

and they talk

to other women

and choke

their men in cups of coffee

But men

and women,

they will separate,

only to reunite

because of the inability

to see these men

and these women

in someone else’s

foreign hands.


and women

choose romance

in their thoughts

and cynicism

in their reality

and these



and break

and still

other men

and other women

will throw them

alcohol and fire,

and then

they are all dragged back

to foreign beds


no one

N o o n e

ever finds love

because love

doesn’t live

in these beds anymore.


and women

lay down on sofas

and talk to therapists

talk about their mother

talk about their impotence,

their current relationship

with life and their

infatuated love

and then lay down

in beds

and talk naked

with other men

and other women

about the same issues

free of charge.

And the days

are going by

and the months

are going by

and the years

are going by

and nobody

N o b o d y


what they are looking for,

and women

drag feet quickly

on the streets

out of insecurity

while men choose

the happy and easy


that walk with

light skips


laugh a lot

fearing the girls

with the heavy ones.


and men

sit in bars.

They play with their phones

and touch their wet glasses


while they repeat

their night’s mandra:

“I deserve to be loved

I deserve to be loved

I deserve to be loved”

and they’re loved


and again

and harder

and harder

the whole night

by other women

and other men.


stay cold,


stay stale in mornings

the therapists

are getting rich

and no man

or woman

finds the "one"

because the "one"

is not “one” anymore,

having shattered

in a thousand pieces

and we all drown

our need for romance

and our hunger for love

in French cinema and Chinese takeaway.


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