Fragments, only fragments.

That is all I know of you.

All you know of me.


You could be perfect.

Everything I dream of.

If I only knew…

Me or You?

Is it really me or you?

Or more the idea of me and you?

That you think you like or

am I so easy to ignore?

Where to?

Where do roads go from here?

All the roads are dangerous.

And does it matter where they lead

as long as we get there… please?

Are you missing me?

Am I just words you see.

My skin – imagined…

Is that all I am?

Dreams of you

I dream of you, so what, did it matter?

In dreams I make you happy.

But only in dreams.


Anjelica Huston by Bob Richardson


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