28

The thing with ballerinas is that there are little things that make them really lovely.
Like offering chocolate to their friends in the dressing room, or the way they blabber.
The way their light blue underwear shows a bit under their black suits or the way their fingers dance in their hair as if they were dancers, each ten of them.

20

I can't believe that I really miss her.

She was bad to me.

She caused me so much fear, so much hate towards myself and the feeling of me not being enough, not being good at all.

We had a silent competition of problems. 

Who has the biggest problems?

Whose life is the worst?

Most of the time she was the winner.

She always had to win.

But then again, I used to share everything with her; my secrets, my sorrows, funny pictures I saw on facebook. 

She was the only person who touched me, 

held my hand or hugged me when she saw me.

That rarely happens now.

She was like sweet poison.

A wasp dressed as a butterfly.

She caused me so much shit, and I still miss her.

16

I wish I could tell you that

every love poem I've ever written is about you.

10

I think I might have fallen.

Yes.

In love, I mean. With you, I mean.

With the curve of your lips when they stretch to a smile. With your laugh and your voice when you call my name. 

With your blond hair and light skin and the way your ideas make no sense at all or the way they make after all. 

But I am on the other side of the window, looking from outside to inside with my face pressed to the glass and i wish you'd notice

or put flowers to your hair even once

7

Few months back, someone sat behind me in a bus.
Red haired girl or young woman, no one special really.

She peeked behind my shoulders, reading the text i was writing from my pocket fitting moleskin. I took a risk on writing what I wrote, big dreams, big secrets and when I got off the bus she looked at me like she could see through me.

We shared a moment, looking to each others eyes (nothing romantic) and I almost laughed at it. She knew who I was and I will, hopefully, never see her again.

5

Two girls, both of them hardly eighteen babbling about everything in an almost empty bus. They talk about their pregnant friends like dogs. 

The second one tells to the other that a fourteen year old at their old school is pregnant now and will get a baby soon and the other one says something utterly stupid like 'lol' or 'omg' and I am dying just for the braincells of her. 

4

A man, standing beside me on a bus stop checking his watch.

He looks nervous, and he is probably late from work or school, he checks his watch again.

People around me are talking different languages instead of the blank old Finnish. 

I can hear Spanish, german and French. 

The man is probably from France, judging by his clothing and eyes.

There is a different shine in the eyes of Frenchmen, happy little glint. 

Even though the glint in his eyes is shadowed by his wrinkled eyebrows.

Two young men, both from France, on the other side of the glass wall on the roofed bus stop;

They are wearing berets, and the other one of them is holding a French Loaf.

Playful smiles lingering on their faces, they are playing with the irony, that's how Finns see them - or at least used to see.

I smile to their backs and and one of them, the one with a red beret,  notices me and wrinkles his eyebrows. 

#3

A teacher, standing in front of the class, holding her hands on her hips as the light from the beamer turns her face pale mirrowing only a one word from the computer, the word itself is not a big nor important. Only the irony of the little moment is. There are five big bold letters on her hairline forming a word BLANK

#2

There was a young girl, 14 or so, sitting by a coffee table at a coffee shop.

Three candy wrappers in front of her, crumbled by the table, not in a particular order or pattern.

Just laying there, in front of her.

She had a blank stare and she didn't really look at anything, just looked.

Her hands were hanging by her sides and she looked a lot like a broken doll, left alone there.

There were a group of guys on few tables away from her, and her eyes lingered to them few times, but no wonder.

They were really loud, laughing their asses off making jokes about girls and whistling to those who looked good. I got sick of them after only a minute.

I was sitting by a coffee table, my mother beside me, holding a cup of tea in my hands.

We sat there in a comfortable silence for a while, songs of the musical we just watched playing on non-stop repeat on our heads.

I let my eyes lie on the girl, I made deductions about her that I have already forgotten.

A man in a thick jumper walked past her, pushing a baby carriage that had a white balloon strapped on it.

He was talking softly to the baby, and the girls eyes lied upon the horrible horrible jumper of his and I bet she must have laughed in her head.

Next time I let my eyes to that direction she was not there, but the three candy wrappers were. Neatly in line on the table.

# 1

Nine year old ballerinas, running around me with the anticipation of the next lesson, nearly running me over.

Some of them holding their new iPhones protectively, against their little bodies covered with close-fitting fabric of their ballet that suits that come in a variety of different colors.

Their nearly naked bodies showing a little too much skin, though they are not old enough to care, their hair in ponytails or buns smiling to their fathers, those men waiting in the lobby.

Their fathers smiling back, or asking whats wrong. Few mothers back there too, but talking about their daughters with some kind of competition in their voices.

One of the fathers reading a book trying to close the giggling of the girls out of his little world.

And few older students like me, trying to find a way to the dressing rooms to get away from here.

Looking lost, and knowing that the little girls are better than we are and some of them will be professionals. And also knowing, that some of them will drop the hobby before even getting to the point where they decide.

And some of them are soon wanting to be even skinnier than they are now, causing themselves eating disorders.

Some of them are going to brake bones, or hurt them selfs so bad that they can't dance anymore and they will get bitter over their friends; the ones that are professionals.