Easy is the road to float on
When you swiftly ignore the sign.
Bitter is the lump in my throat,
Born from years of holding tears.

Shatters the glass on the white cloth,
Blood mixing with the wine.
Louder grow the cheers in the back
As the mocking finale nears.

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Thanks for reading. Love, Amelie.

One of the cups is left untouched,
And it’s steaming till it’s cold,
And my own cup is now empty,
With the black grounds getting old.

I’ve been waiting for the soft touch
To get to me before mold.
I’ve been stuck here — in this timelapse.
What a bare sight to behold.

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Thanks for reading. Love, Amelie.

And she breathes life into me,
Though it’s infidelity.
Flowers bloom in our sea,
Drown in our mortality.

As I wander through your mind,
Hate every outcome that I find,
’Cause all versions end the same—
Me alone, and you with him.

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Thanks for reading. Love, Amelie.

When I saw Death, she was floating 
Around the bench where we sat,
Staring ahead at the garden
Where the flowers lay dead.

She looked at me, her eyes wise—
For who had said Death was bad?
She looked at me in stunned silence,
No words were meant to be said.

The contagious melancholy 
Kept us staring straight ahead,
And the absence of your presence 
Kept us waiting for the end.

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Thanks for reading.Love, Amelie.

Give me your cup full of poison, 
And I’ll drink it like it’s wine.
Give me the thoughts that haunt your sleep
In the middle of the night.
Give me the knife stuck in your heart, 
And I’ll dig it into mine.
Give me your shield, give me your sword - 
I will fight your toughest fight.

I want no cloud in your blue skies, 
I want no ache in your heart, 
I want no tears in your deep eyes, 
And no horror in your nights.

I will hold you till I soak in 
All the poison in your life.
I will know you till I’m certain
There’re no dark thoughts and no knives.

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Thanks for reading.Love, Amelie.

Our silence hanging by a thread,
Words that are choking, not meant to be said.
Your eyes are an ocean, in them I drown dead,
And yet they’re the reason why my soul was bred:

To hang in your mind,
To live in your head,
To haunt all your moments,
To trace where you’ve fled.

I won’t come running,
’Cause you didn’t call,
But we’re both waiting,
Living half-lives, null.

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Thanks for reading. Love, Amelie.

My woman has me, like I breathe for it
My woman has me, like the world would fall
My woman knows me, like I live for it
My woman knows me, as much as she’d like

How soft the hands are, when they’re forbidden
How my breath stops, when she starts to reach
How sweet the fruit tastes, when you know it’s hidden
How the world shuts down, when her scent is near

Though the lie’s so sweet, the world makes it bitter
Though the flowers bloom, the roots are long gone
Though the eyes so sad, they still carry glitter
Though the faith turned cruel, my soul was reborn.

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Thanks for reading. Love, Amelie.

When I touched your hand, I knew we were dying,
I knew it was close.
When you looked ahead, I knew I was fading,
I knew I was past.

’Cause in worlds like this, loving is a sin, and I sin, say all.
But if you’re the sin, then I’ll come crawling even if I fall.

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Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

I could paint a world with a whole new life,
I could paint light eyes that would long for me,
I could paint warm hands and a loving smile,
But you—my painting won’t bring to me.

Now the paint is dry, and the canvas full,
With your unmatched figure and your eyes of sea.
The smile is yours, and the soft gaze too,
Except I can’t feel it—it’s not you I see.

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Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

Run away.
Go abroad.
Find the love that’s missing.

Lose your job.
Fall apart.
Cry for foolish reasons.

Then just smile.
Let it go.
It’s your first time living.

You’ll lose one,
Then lose two,
And then all your people.

But that’s life—
How it goes.
You can’t solve the riddle.

Yes, we're born,
Then we die.
Just live in the middle.

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Thanks for reading. Love,Amelie.

In the peak of chaos, as the world falls down,
We’re on the horizon—my lover and me.
At the end of times, as the people part,
We’re getting closer—my woman and me.

As she holds my hand, till our skin is one,
Till we’re in the middle of it all again,
As we watch the space where it all unfolds,
When it starts to end—the existence of men.

If the earth shall take us,
Then let it take us—not just you and me.
If the sun shall burn us,
Let it melt our skin till our souls break free.

The darkest of times, the coldest of eyes,
The most rotten faults men try to cover.
The warmer her hands, the calmer my voice,
As I utter low, “I will—I will die your lover.”

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Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

Oh, that single tear has your soul in it
As it’s running down, with your skin beneath,
In the shape of her and the words she hit—
Now you're just some skin, with bones underneath.

You chase her lost form in the dark of night,
Running from the cold to the only heat.
You can feel it drain all your feelings out,
Hanging on the visions that make your heart beat.

And now you're a corpse hanging on a wall,
Observed by the ones learning how to cheat,
How to run from death, how to trick for life,
For that single tear had your soul in it.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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I am touch-starved, and you're so close
Close enough to see, not feel.

I am thought-drunk in the wish
To hold you once more, my dear.

I am afraid of the ghost
That lives in my walls this year.

I am running from the voice
That keeps repeating my fears.

I am yours—and you're the ghost,
You're the thoughts, and you're the fears.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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And drowns us in the waves so cold,

And when the wind brings the fire,

And the fire burns us all,

And then the earth once more takes over,

And buries us in its deep wounds —

You know, my love, I’ll say forever,

Because we stay, because we loved.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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I hate the fact that there's danger
When I want to hold you close.
I hate that life teaches lessons—
Hate that you'll be one of those.

I hate the cold side of my bed,
'Cause I left it just for you.
I hate the two lonely footsteps
That follow me in the snow.

I hate that my hands are freezing—
You don't hold them anymore.
I hate that the ghost of your touch
Will be burning evermore.

I hate that the world keeps turning
When I just dug my own grave.
I hate that I’d still gladly
Give you everything I gave.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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Makes me feel like I'm alive.

And every time I hear her speak,

I feel we were made to fly.

She is nothing and everything—

I'm her chapter, she's my book.

And I'm nothing and everything,

If she wants to, she might look.

It's the wrong circumstances,

The wrong time, wrong world,

But nothing's wrong when she holds me,

Nothing's wrong—'cause no one knows.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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For every sharp knife
That’s dug in my soul,
It’s her eyes, so calm,
That help me breathe—
While death’s in the corner
With a knife that’s dull.
And now, what is pain?
Who cares if we live?

What is hell or heaven?
What is death or life?
Who cares if there’s truth—
We live in deceit.
Who cares if there’s life
Right after we die,
'Cause my beloved
Won’t be there with me.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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with her eyes still closed,

she breathes like forever

lays beneath our feet.

And now, in the covers,

ruffled with our love,

her figure is certain,

like the death we'll meet.

But for now, it's us,

and the sunlights soft,

that lights up her face

And fills me with greed.

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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Poets talk about when they fall in love,

And I, a mortal, lost with no directions,

Am not a poet, nor a thing above.

But my beloved is a thing like angel,

With devil's beauty—tempting, yet so soft.

And who can resist the sweet temptation,

Even when it leads to where one gets lost?

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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This article is dedicated to a particular love scene I came across in The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith, a novel that was later adapted into the 2015 film Carol. Starring Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara.

The difference between this love scene and those I’ve read in modern literature is striking. It’s not described merely as a physical experience—even though it is one—but as a deeply spiritual one. And I’ve come to realize that I prefer that.

Reading it reminded me why making love is often considered an art. I believe that too, and Highsmith’s writing captures the idea beautifully. The book was written and published in the 1950s, and since it depicts an affair between two women, that’s likely one of the reasons why the scene isn’t very graphic, but perhaps that’s also what makes it so profound.

I wanted to share it because it moved me so deeply, it made me emotional. Not because it was sad, but because it was beautiful.

• It was dawn now. Carol's fingers tightened in her hair, Carol kissed her on the lips, and pleasure leaped in Therese again as if it were only a continuation of the moment when Carol had slipped her arm under her neck last night. I love you, Therese wanted to say again, and then the words were erased by the tingling and terrifying pleasure that spread in waves from Carol's lips over her neck, her shoulders, that rushed suddenly, the length of her body. Her arms were tight around Carol, and she was conscious of Carol and nothing else, of Carol's hand that slid along her ribs, Carol's hair that brushed her bare breasts, and then her body too seemed to vanish in widening circles that leaped further and further, beyond where thought could follow. While a thousand memories and moments, words, the first darling, the second time Carol had met her at the store, a thousand memories of Carol's face, her voice, moments of anger and laughter flashed like the tail of a comet across her brain. And now it was pale-blue distance and space, an expanding space in which she took flight suddenly like a long arrow.“The arrow seemed to cross an impossibly wide abyss with ease, seemed to arc on and on in space, and not quite to stop. Then she realized that she still clung to Carol, that she trembled violently, and the arrow was herself. She saw Carol's pale hair across her eyes, and now Carol's head was close against hers. And she did not have to ask if this were right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect. She held Carol tighter against her, and felt Carol's mouth on her own smiling mouth.Therese lay still, looking “at her at Carol's face only inches away from her, the gray eyes calm as she had never seen them, as if they retained some of the space she had just emerged from. And it seemed strange that it was still Carol's face, with the freckles, the bending blond eyebrow that she knew, the mouth now as calm as her eyes, as Therese had seen it many times before.

"My angel," Carol said. "Flung out of space.”

Thanks for reading.Love,Amelie.

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