I don’t believe in love

I have to admit, I don’t generally believe in love. I think it’s just nonsense that society and pop culture forcefully shove down our throats. But when I watch a film like Kodachrome, there’s this faint hope for something—quiet and nameless—like that moment when Zooey rests her head on Matt’s shoulder as they watch Ben’s slides of Matt’s childhood. There’s something peaceful about it. It’s none of that Hollywood-style, Technicolour romantic love. So maybe it’s not that I don’t believe in love. Maybe I just don’t believe in the version that demands centre stage instead of being something more modest and more difficult: a temporary easing of solitude, a shared rhythm, a moment where nothing needs to be proven and it feels peaceful rather than intoxicating.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

A letter to young me

Do you remember the day you learnt
the difference between epistemology and epistolography,
and the fountain pen with emerald green ink
you chose because it seemed more appealing
than the serenity blue?

You couldn’t have known that the letters
would turn out to be a sentence
with a costly parole on the fleeing horizon
and a bitter aftertaste
that would stay with you as you go.

So, ditch the pimp king from Stratford
with his lovey-dovey quarto
and Veronese balcony,
and embrace the Frankfurt recluse
while you still can.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The turkey’s vote

It was such a fine idea—while it lasted—
that even though it barely outlived the remex
dipped in oak gall ink to etch the signatures,
we go on perpetuating it ad infinitum
like turkeys drawn by ‘something borrowed,
something blue’.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com