End Credits 

You sneak into my body between

old ladies chanting in the fourties 

and a soprano who extolls the spring.

As she reaches immeasurable heights you sneak in bolder

You’re made of music.

You gave away your secret and now it’s too late

to take it back.

I chose Shanghai in the fourties to bring you with me.

Ports do you good, that’s why you’re here

even if you don’t like it.

Today, I wanted to place you in the end credits.

See you in the screen behind the worlds of Edward Yang

and Wong Kar-wai.

I’ve so much love for you

I can’t bare to see you intact

in case you ruin it.

I’d rather pause some scenes and take some pictures.

Then you’ll be alive in wooden floors, scattered muddy boots and books hipped on the bed.

In shady streets with neon lights.

You’ll eat MacDonalds next to a woman who wears a blond wig and will adore you.

You’ll be ready to shoot in a Pakistani brothel.

But the only scene I‘ll print with you, will be in the jukebox

when you choose the song to say goodbye.

Left on my own to wonder, how easy for you is not to speak.


Zoe Konstantinou comes from Greece and holds a masters in International Relations from the University of Edinburgh. She currently works in Panama in the field of cooperation. You can find her writings at The Selkie, Litro Magazine, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal and the Litehouse.