Leaving Brussels

The radio is passing that song

“Ne me quitte pas” it implores.

Laying down on my terrace

I can observe the autumn leaves 

coming and going,

continuously,

from the trees,

in the breeze.

The white pages of my diary are waiting for me

to be filled.

Lost for words, 
I am just dreaming all my memories.

Seven years have gone by

and 

I can now feel the heat on my skin

burning me 
with an unusual ray of light.

A light made

of love

of family

of feeling home.

“C`était au temps où Bruxelles rêvait “

Jacques still sings

and I keep on dreaming.

Until suddenly,

the Belgian rain,

dripping in and out my eyes,

shuts the doors of my memory behind.

Je m’en vais, je quitte,

I leave. Au revoir.