Something personal, something about me? Facing a mirror, or is it just a window? Then, how come so much space between me and … and me? Or am I that distorted? I need not see, have a phone stuck to my ear. Waiting for it to call so I can not pick up and talk to whom I want to talk. Wondering how come it developed a way to dance the world around and how come it made the rain talk nonsense. From distances, the first person plural! Can such a thing be build by two strong contoured beings? I can’t get lost in you, can I? Movement desires its own victims, so it starts sculpting the tactility of her fingers in the winding moments of becoming. Shapes and forms in a hallucinogenic ride. Are they playing hide and seek! (Exclamating a question, you taught me that last time). The man who took my hands and read them saying “One day you’ll let your hair loose, you’ll lean on the tree, you’ll have a path right there besides you, you’ll pretend to read a book, when you have not learned to read yet and will die alive.” .What kind of man are you to predict the past I have not lived yet? The presence of no felt word and the lingering of all shadows touched by their demiurges.
The phone is still stuck to my year. I know now: it’s a window and I am seeing you. Are knees growing one from another? Are you happening the wind again?
I have not answered but stood by your side for mountains and mountains. Isn’t it ironic that my battery should have run out in moments like these? Back to what they call reality and matter and spirituality.
Would you have picked up?
This has a PS: Can I half step both sides of the All, can I half see the wind mills growing ash on their backs, can I half say the path away, can half grow the moments in colours, can I half live anywhere? Can I come back after leaving all that will glue me together, can falling be tied to windows, can they close their eyes and be real?