I can see that I’m there again: sitting on the wrong side of the window, trying to catch a glimpse of past blood and love. I need to tend to old feelings and faces. And to the last moments of the disintegrated lives, that once ruled mine.
Like misty shadows they hold my shoulders, nudging me, pushing me, jerking my arms. All they want is to be seen. I have nothing to gain, but to run my fingers through worn out melodies. And to breathe in their hoarse whispers of old.
It’s alright. Time will catch up with me again. I will get up and clean my house.
And I will once more be as oblivious as I was before.
Eva Mout, Ursus Art
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