Painting Supper by Leon Bakst, 1903
He loved me so much
And I loved him.
I have never traveled to his land.
He never came to mine.
But we were lovers.
We adored each other
In our virtual land made of letters.
One day he disappeared.
Never again his letter came to me.
So I came in his country.
And since then I am eating here
In the same club where he was apparently
by Vanja Todorovic