чмоки в щеки
I’m going to get this tattooed on my neck. I need to come up with a picture that I want below it.
Maybe. An armadillo? A kangaroo? A crow? A fossil?
My throat has been scratchy lately. I drank some lemon tea with honey, tonight and the night before, yet nothing has changed. My voice is scratchy. I have stayed away from talking in long words, the past week. Alas, I still do not sound the same.
I must be sick.
I must be.
I must have lost all grips of reality. There is not a chance in this world, that this could be happening.
What is happening?
You are happening. You are here. You are existing in the material universe, where nothing magical could ever exist.
How can you be here?
I did not call you out by name. I did not search for you. I even went as far as pretending that you did not exist.
Except, exist you do. There. In front of me. I reach out my hand to catch you.
You fall right through. I lost you. I can’t grab you. I can’t call out to you. You don’t exist. You’re a figment of my imagination. Stop occupying my cerebrum.
Let me stop, I’m lying.
I love it that you do. Stay. Make yourself welcomed. Invent new words that only you would know. I want to speak in the language of you.
Oh and please do me a favor and stop this itch in my throat. I already love you. You don’t have to make me say it.
Спокй ночи / чмоки в щеки
I think… This phrase is going to be my only neck tattoo. There is no need for a picture.