◉ 019 | Love Marks

I was twelve.

Her name was Cvita.

With love in my heart

and one fat black permanent marker

I found in my dad’s workshop,

the street became my canvas.

A + C.

Anton plus Cvita.

Everywhere in my own street.

Madly in love,

brain lost.

I tagged walls.

Doors and doorbells.

Stone and wood.

Even tree trunks.

Over and over,

a hundred times or more.

Like a mantra.

Like a heartbeat.

I slipped into a common yard

across the street,

no doors to stop me.

Stairs led up to a wall,

three metres high,

wide enough to walk.

At the end—

a stone beam,

25–30 cm wide.

Slippery.

Nothing beneath but void.

I balanced across,

tightrope steps,

sped up near the end

and landed on top of the building.

There it was:

K G S

Klimatizacija — Grijanje — Solar

A yellow business sign,

black vinyl letters from the ’90s.

The perfect canvas to showcase my love.

So I hit it not once,

but many times.

Different sizes.

Bold. Permanent.

A + C

A + C

A + C

Basquiat left poems on walls.

Banksy left politics.

I left love.

Pure. Brutal. Proud.

And then—

the explosion.

Jure stormed into our house

like a tornado.

Not just a neighbour,

a family friend.

Red-faced. Furious.

Pointing at his sign I’d destroyed.

My father followed up.

The only time he smacked me that hard.

So hard he regrets it to this day.

My parents handed me a rag,

a bottle of alcohol,

and sent me to clean it all off.

Most came off.

Some stayed.

Love leaves marks.

Not all of them can be erased.

Decades later,

I’ve started making marks again.

Bold strokes.

Vivid colours.

On my own photographs.

Maybe that’s my next love.