Path of twigs

Conversations used to be
climbing up the stairs
falling on a stain
ending up in a basement
damp and crammed with
sticky spider corpses.

I longed for interaction,
didn't know if I ever
would have one
that wasn't ticking with
boredom, void of life
and waste of time.

I was at the main road
deciding on which one among
the world's thousands of
languages to explore.

Should I dive into my
native language Swedish,
or improve English, the
obvious career choice?
Should I follow my friends
and learn German, Spanish
or French?

I refused the paths well paved
I was not impressed by
street light grace.
I took the path sprawling
of twigs, the one untouched
by brusch saw hands.

Conversations are now
climbing up the stairs
steps are light my feets
fly without me knowing how
I can't get enough of
how the tree crowns
appear from here
my tentacles are cheering
my skin tells me I'm alive.

The boredom was never
in what we said, but in what
language it was conveyed.
I know that now, because
I took the path of twigs
and studied Arabic.