Únor 2018

we lay in your bed & i held you

25. února 2018 v 8:25 | Jolly |  (Bá)Snění


Your body hidden away in my limbs like a cradle
my limbs like the roots of a tree embracing you(r body)
keeping you safe,
here, with me

realization about her

22. února 2018 v 19:17 | Jolly |  Deník


i am scared of losing you



realization about him

22. února 2018 v 19:16 | Jolly |  Deník


It Is Only Temporary



you could write a song about that

21. února 2018 v 16:49 | Jolly |  Deník


She Loves Me and That Is Enough



morning bird

8. února 2018 v 18:38 | Jolly |  Útržky


It is the time of day when you don't know if it's too late in the night or too early in the morning. He isn't sure why exactly has he woken up. Certain is that he's not going back to sleep now.

The city lights burn brightly into the darkness. He rises from the bed, where his lover sleeps soundly, to walk to the French windows. He looks out. His hand reaches for the handle but doesn't move for another minute. Or two. Time passes differently now. Finally he opens the door leading out on the balcony. The tiles are cold beneath his bare feet.

The air isn't exactly cold, no. It just isn't exactly warm, either. It will warm up as the sun rises until it gets so unbearably hot he will feel like dying. He makes a face just thinking about it.

His fingers itch for a cigarette. But, strangely, he doesn't feel like going back inside just to fetch one. Instead, he lowers himself on the tiles, presses his back into the wall. He exhales slowly. Watches the lights blink at him through the railing. It would make a pretty picture. He doesn't move.


He may have fallen asleep. He probably did, given the curious look that his lover offers him. Question silent in dark eyes, small smile on plump lips. The horizon is pale.

"I don't remember kicking you out of bed," they joke, grinning.

He rolls his eyes. They sit beside him, looking out at the city. He drapes an arm around their shoulders. Neither of them talks.

They watch the sun rise. There are goosebumps on his lover's arms, but they refuse to go get a shirt, instead they just cuddle closer into his side.

Eventually, their head drops on his shoulder, and he feels a steady tickle of their breath on his skin. He smiles and starts to get up. His body is sore from the unnatural position he accidentally slept in. He pick his lover up with ease, carrying them back inside. He kicks the door shut behind them. Lays them down on the bed gently and comes back to draw the curtains shut. He plans on sleeping now.

(They make love sleepily first, hazy and soft and light-hearted. He doesn't come and he doesn't mind. Sleep catches him off guard.)

Mad love.

6. února 2018 v 9:05 | Jolly |  Deník

Prázdninuju u babičky a mám pořád chuť psát. On i ona ještě spí, protože fungují na zcela jinym dennim režimu než já. (Kolik těch lidí máš, Jolly? - Dva.) Jenže problém se psaním je tu ten, že nevím, co bych. Jakým jazykem? Originální věci? A má to být další porno o nás třech, nebo musím zapojit všechny dvě zbylý mozkový buňky a vymyslet si vlastní postavy?

Řešila jsem s kamarádkou, čím se mám jako živit, až se konečně vyseru na školu. Říkám jí, nechci mluvit na lidi. Prostě nechci. Neumim pracovat. A ona prý, tak se živ psaním. Hahaha. Tak nevím. Jako, já bych strašně ráda! A ona není první člověk, kdo mi něco takovýho řekl. Na gymplu mi spolužačka řekla, že v budoucnu určitě musím vydat soubor česko-anglických pornopovídek. Ale upřímně? Moje úroveň psaní ani v češtině ani v angličtině není dostatečná. (I když, spolužačka z výšky mi řekla, že oproti sračkám typu 50 Shades píšu moc dobrý porno.)

Chtěla bych psací stroj, abych si mohla přepsat svoje nejlepší věci a udělat si DIY knížečku svázanou provázkem. Indie jak sviň.


(Už se probudila, tak já zase jdu.)