tempus fugit

and then you lay in stillness, staring from the depths of what you don’t even know you are to the sky-high memories and plans. You freeze. You notice. And you look around and no one seems to be slowing down…

hear the buzz from empty conversations; you after not too long you’ll see their bodies giving in to the inept words wasting their vocal cords – maybe with words that would best used in other days or nights, the *great* ones – getting louder in fake excitement over what they’ll criticise and dismiss as soon the “bye” flies around.

so it goes, this necessary game of back and forth that exercises not only your sensory capacity but the restraint of free movements (careful with the clues) and the worst kind of resilience, the one that comes from learning authority obedience to even take part in it… With klings and klangs and lights that are not welcoming, with half screams of superficial joy and the air so heavy you will need water to cleanse it all… You hate it. You do it again. Repeatedly. Nonsensically. Until you stop and flat out refuse it – leaving politeness visible in the high wall(s) with the possibility of a ceiling you built to keep yourself (minimally) sane.

my walls reach high above but that is part of the challenge. I need the extra boost, the extra something, the non-fake joy to make me reach up and jump. My ceiling is a big glass pane that moves around in easy maneuvering. “Make it worth it” kinda thing is what I am trying to explain here.

I could be given the moon and stay in a perpetual state of swoon but I won’t accept it if I’ll be left in daylight – the moon is not solitary but works within private intimacy. These days out in the streets at night I’ll go, for the spotlight of the sun won’t bother me no more… and silence abounds. There, words are usually softer, the lights become diffused, and the klings and klangs are heard at a safe distance.

it is the optimal condition for both laughter and cries – silent complicity in both exhilaration and negative discharge guarantee the best laughs and tears. Can’t get them any deeper.

the game is optional, if you will. And that’s the whole point – to be as free as possible within larger plays (those we cannot control and are almost unaware of while we watch days go by).

until the flowers blossom again I’ll have the moon and the stars and I don’t need clear skies to see them. They are there…

only when the leaves gain their refreshing green again, will I be prepared to be given the sun and the sea. with the same hesitance at the offer but only because it takes me quite a while to readapt – “it’s not you, it’s me”, in its most truthful use, not the one I hear being thrown around as excuses – another sequence of words I gladly avoid like many others who exist for the tiring game of (creating) belonging.

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