αναγνώριση

αναζητώντας για μέρες

μια στιγμή που δεν έχεις σημαδέψει,

επιτέλους, κατάλαβα.

 ______

αναγνώριση by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License  

immeasurable

he was already swimming,

in the early summer sea,

feeling more refreshed with every stroke.

she had just left her clothes at the beach

and was coming to meet him,

no sounds around them but the waves,

the sun setting patiently in the background.

“well, nice!

you sure look better than before,” he said.
“I guess the fitness training you’ve been doing

is starting to pay off.”

“I’m also happier now,” she replied,

and dipped her head in the water,

keeping it in as much as possible,

letting the cool waters wash away

a week’s worth of fatigue.

“well, that doesn’t mean much, does it?

you could be less happy in five minutes,

or even sad,

but you’ll still be as fit as you are now.

fitness is something concrete,

measurable,

happiness is… meh,” he waved his arm in the air,

indicating something cloudy,

insubstantial.

“sure, but, feeling my body healthier,

feeling a stronger connection to it,

really makes me happier!

you can’t measure it,

ok, I get that,

but it’s still true!”

“sure, sure, that’s great.

now, listen,

I’ve made this new measure,

which includes the fastest lap

you can do in the swimming pool,

and your blood oxygen levels

and…” 

she had wandered off near some rocks,

and was watching intently

at the tiniest crab she had ever seen.

it was bravely fighting against the waves,

going three steps to the right,

then being pushed 2 steps back again.

the poor crab would make it, eventually,

she was sure of it.

“..., and in this metric I’ve reached twelve now,

but when I started I was only doing about eight,

so that’s a huge improvement,” he kept on,

not missing a beat.

“and you also seem happier now,” she replied,

staring at the seagulls that were circling them from high above,

white touches of light in the purple, darkening sky.

“I’m really glad.”

 ______

immeasurable by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License  

going home

sometimes I remember Mr. Light.

he was the kind, silent type, 

slightly older than most recruits,

but doing his time patiently like the rest of us.

it was rare to find Mr. Light arguing,

or expressing a strong opinion;

he mostly listened,

and kept to himself.

there was something delicate

and soft

about his silence,

like a pillow, or a teacup:

impossible to cause any harm.

it’s easy to forget a person like that.

someone that neither excited

nor annoyed you.

and I expect I’d have forgotten all about him by now,

if it wasn’t for a single discussion we had,

a week before he got his leave from the army.

he said there were two things he was looking forward to,

once he got out.

the first was the marathon.

it was his dream to be able to run the full marathon,

and he was training the whole year for it.

I’m sure he did great.

the second was going back to the village where he grew up.

there was his childhood home there,

waiting for him,

if he wanted it.

but there was also a friend.

a friend he hadn’t spoken to for quite some time.

a friend that,

at some point,

had been much more than that.

and Mr. Light hoped,

and hoped,

and hoped so hard and for so long,

that it was starting to leak through him.

you could see his hands tremble

and his eyes water as he talked about it,

you could almost smell the excitement and fear,

almost hear his heart pound faster.

he hoped so much he couldn’t stand hoping any more,

that his friend might be there,

like his childhood home,

waiting.

it’s hard to guess if he deserved it,

but even so,

I hope he got a chance

to make things right.

 ______

going home by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License