I could see her shoulderblades beneath her shirt, her brastrap as she glanced away. My heart was afraid. I was left, again, to corridors and footsteps, emptiness of humour blasted away. My dreams were full of her. Every darkness welcomed her presence, as if death were her very face. There are words i could speak now, that would make the world itself halt, as if retarded, with its traffic, its winds, its empty suburban houses on Saturday night about five o clock. The laughter of children used to resound on such nights, along with the bone-dry canned laughter of forgotten televisions. Do i want her? I ask myself, alone in streets, a minimal, uncertain smile, sad, wandering eyes.
There are times when i wish i could enscribe my love on the wall, but i guess i haven't the necessary tools. Only sleep is better than life. Instead i should write, on every available surface, these five words- "I am no longer sad". The question is am i in love. The answer is yes.
The only plaintive note the belly-voice can scream is "give me!". How odd, then, that it should be thwarted every time. And yet how natural, bare, animalistic. Loneliness is a marketable taste like strawberry vanilla. Do you know what the great philosopher hears every day? "Give me, give me, give me!" It turns out that that is the only voice one is able to hear.
Every day i knock on a different door, and am refused. Something poetic even in failure. What good will it do to write "she had blue eyes" or "she blushed, laughing"? We are all transformed into corpses as we write. My heart is not another's.
I will go downstairs, and put it in my hand, put it to my lips, put it in my heart. Never tell me its name. "If i'm going to die then i should die for a reason". Repeat that to yourself in rooms lit by cheap lamp-bulbs.
Give it to me in the wind. Transmit it in a voice. Let me sleep on a mountaintop, or let my ghost drop in the high street. Let me be in the graveyard in the afternoon. Don't even give me sight. I am strong enough to die every hour for you. Repeat, "i am no longer sad".
And to think some still dare to say that there is a light that shines.
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