Light piece Nr.3

December 6th, 2012

She said. One of the axioms for thinking and, if needed, writing. She can be a mother, a sister, a friend, a lover. Ex,¬† imaginary or future one. It’s only obvious, in beautifully¬† pained colours , that she said something. Not clear what was it that she said: it could have been misheard, neglected, heard with too much excitement. Sure of the fact that she said, otherwise why love when thinking? And yet, here – love. In dim light. Passing the rivers, the rooms, the bars where it still oscillates her said words.
Stopping to listen, a whisper, a singing, a scream, a demand.
Think of it like this – you are in a bright lit place, close your eyes and there are traces of light behind your eyelids. You open your eyes and it’s dead dark, close them as fast as you can,to look for the remnants of light – thinking what was it that you saw when the light still there.
Think of the dark as yourself and the light as she said, think of what it made of you, how it made you, love.
Turning you transparent and weightless. How you became easy to be torn and wounded and light enough to travel without taking a step in any direction.

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