h
@cicala
taşların ve ağaçların sırrını bilmeyi dilerdim
but when the pre-dawn light lit the bedroom softly, things emerged fresh from shadow, she felt the new morning insinuating itself between the sheets and opened her eyes. she sat up in bed. inside her it was as if death didn’t exist, as if love could weld her, as if eternity were renewal.
“Kötü bir anıyı unutmanın en iyi yolu güzel bir tanesiyle değişmektir.”
as her father carried her down the corridor to her room, she leaned her head against him, smelled the strong scent that came from his arms.
i look through this window and the only truth, the truth i couldn’t tell that man. if i went up to him, without him running away from me, the only truth is that i live. sincerely. i live. who am i? well, that's a bit much. i remember a chromatic study by bach and my mind strays. it is as cold and pure as ice, yet you can sleep on it. my consciousness strays, but it doesn’t matter, i find the greatest serenity in hallucination. it is curious that i can’t say who i am. that is to say, i know it all too well, but i can’t say it. more than anything, i’m afraid to say it, because the moment i try to speak not only do i fail to express what i feel but what i feel slowly becomes what i say. or at least what makes me act is not what i feel but what i say. i feel who i am and the impression is lodged in the highest part of my brain, on my lips (especially on my tongue), on the surface of my arms and also running through me, deep in side my body, but where, exactly where, i can’t say. the taste is grey, slightly reddish, a bit bluish in the old parts, and it moves like gelatin, sluggishly. sometimes it becomes sharp and wounds me, colliding with me.
don’t accuse myself. seek the basis of selfishness: nothing that i am not can interest me, it is impossible to be any more than what you are (nevertheless i exceed myself even when i’m not delirious, i am more than myself almost normally); i have a body and everything that i do is a continuation of my beginning; if the mayan civilization doesn’t interest me it is because i have nothing in me that can connect with its bas-reliefs: i accept everything that comes from me because i am unaware of the causes and i may be trampling something vital without knowing it; this is my greatest humility, she figured.