I find myself in this paradox of a day, between these canals
the sun making my eyes look ajar,
drinking hot tea
and biting a good attempt of pastel de nata
the wind tangling my hair
on an early weekday.
And just like this,
I find myself with my legs crossed under a table too tiny for my uncoordinated manners
and I don’t have a clear picture
nor a draft of the path to go,
no sign suggesting whether to turn right or keep stumbling on those familiar errors
that my head doesn’t seem to let go.
I don’t have a clue about where I’ll be
or how I’ll fill those hours between goodnight kisses and a quiet breakfast before the house awakes.
I’m sure I wouldn’t be doing things any other way,
not following the tricks given by who knows me by heart,
but following stars calculated to spans
and approximate sums of the shades of coffee in the mug
or of wine on the lips.
It’s time to take a full breath
and dive deep.
I’ve got a swimsuit under my jeans.