Long before your sharp departure, I had been having these icy flashes of something one could call daylight inquietude. Still, the more I was sinking in everything that has been, the more unnatural it seemed to reckon that I won't be expelled from perhaps the most unwarranted thing in life, that for each minute of warmth, one must walk miles of anguish. Yet I don't give in. To come to terms with a wreckage, one must make a deal with his ghosts, it's a risky bussiness. As for me, the sole possible choice was backwards, to live inside the open wound instead of bearing the upsetting scar.
You see, things have become so much different these last years. It happened imperceivably, in slow, yet irreversible cuts, the more we got closer, everyone around started to get smaller, turning into shattery, irrelevant lines. Do you sense it? The world is meager, it's us who've grown much larger than it, overwhelming ghosts. I'm haunted by an image. It's not the one that kept following me last year, the inert body, face down in the water, the dream of forgetfulness, one who's been to hell will not come back. This time, my dream is one of stillness, hazily drawn yet somehow very similar to the softening, disentangled chills of a never ending night time taxi ride. of course, some days are harder. The hollow faces in the streets, the irksome hands in subways, they still scare me, but soon they will cease to control will avenge from what still and fully lives within, be it entire possession.
I've been feeling it for a long time, now I'm sure of it, you and I live in the very same body. Your wintry torments, they impel a harsh weight on me, sometimes in the form of a strange noose. Days like these, I forget to eat. As the steps inside become louder, my eyelids turn red and sore, heavy hands press on my chest, my collar bones ache, my body feels unbearably tight. With all disarrangement of things, I, for one, stand still. one who has but one moment to live no longer has anything to dissimulate.
You see, things have become so much different these last years. It happened imperceivably, in slow, yet irreversible cuts, the more we got closer, everyone around started to get smaller, turning into shattery, irrelevant lines. Do you sense it? The world is meager, it's us who've grown much larger than it, overwhelming ghosts. I'm haunted by an image. It's not the one that kept following me last year, the inert body, face down in the water, the dream of forgetfulness, one who's been to hell will not come back. This time, my dream is one of stillness, hazily drawn yet somehow very similar to the softening, disentangled chills of a never ending night time taxi ride. of course, some days are harder. The hollow faces in the streets, the irksome hands in subways, they still scare me, but soon they will cease to control will avenge from what still and fully lives within, be it entire possession.
I've been feeling it for a long time, now I'm sure of it, you and I live in the very same body. Your wintry torments, they impel a harsh weight on me, sometimes in the form of a strange noose. Days like these, I forget to eat. As the steps inside become louder, my eyelids turn red and sore, heavy hands press on my chest, my collar bones ache, my body feels unbearably tight. With all disarrangement of things, I, for one, stand still. one who has but one moment to live no longer has anything to dissimulate.