Traces

Traces

One morning I woke up with a heavy breeze around my neck
and a salty feeling on my back.
It was the mighty sea,
the taste of winter reminds me to be aware of the fragility in transience.
The cold water revives old scars and let those taste-buds indulge in reminiscences.
I hear my inner voice blowing the quietest registers, in whispers,
in shadows of some dirty footprints across the ice surface of a mighty sea.
A noise in the voice that makes me pensive and I’m asking myself:
-How many traces did I leave for those who will remember me?-