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2006-01-23 | |
Thereâ€™s an empty shadow stumbling on my walls. At noon I comb its hair until the sunset blinds me. I believe itâ€™s here at night, too, but I never see it. I suppose itâ€™s just a space in the wall of time. Through it the past haunts my present. I lean my writing to the left, they say itâ€™s because I`m turned towards the pastâ€¦ if they only knew who I ate lunch with. Shadows surround the table and I suddenly feel my room so full, but life has nothing to do with it.
- Where are you?
I never receive answers but I keep asking. The shadows paint my walls, each one of them has its own obscure grim and its own way of creating dim corners in which memories crawl all by themselves, they never ask or fear. I`d recognise your shadows anywhere. They tremble and they sigh with lust for life. In this aspect, we`re the same.
- Talk to meâ€¦
And you do, itâ€™s just that I never listen. I looked for you in the night remembering that only you knew the inside of love.
- I`m on the outside, always under or above.
You move again.
- Donâ€™t argueâ€¦ You know, I`m never wrongâ€¦
You laugh and tremble at the window, then you pass by my bed leaving leaves beside it, I smell them in the morning and I pray to God to leave the Heavens open.
- Tomorrow you might plead innocent and leave.
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