life is a pair of old sandals
most of all it kills
the smell inside
you look at them and you tell yourself
you`d better throw them
then you think you love them
perhaps you could put them again in the washing machine
for the last time
you have the sandals from the one whom you once loved
what was inside your soul
you washed with the delicate program
you hope not to twirl your heart too much
you remember the colour of the sandals on the Venus beach
your sandals and his beer
you wore them when making love hastily
in the backseat of your father`s old car
you wore them at your friends` weddings
in bed when you used to hide dressed
you spilled whisky on them, a little bit of vodka
tears with gin
you wore those sandals like another skin
you felt more feminine, special
like...like
so what?
you left the past behind
laid it on the sandals
and took them to the garbage

that day a gipsy left with my sandals