Saturday, August 8, 2009

Come away

It's just 3 am, my feet hurt from imagining how it will be to run along the streets unseen, unstoppable. To be able to leave and never return, to go from somewhere to everywhere and hide forever in nowhere. I crave insomnia, so i can keep running, but that never happens. I wonder what makes you think thats enviable, to sleep every night with swollen feet.

Is there ever a love that lives in the singular? loves enmeshed in other loves, appear seamless sometimes.The seconds which look like minutes go on into hours and months and finally it all seems like a feeling. The death of one, and then the others. You hate me for loving then, or not loving now? it's bitter irony this, whichever way you see it.At another time it might be a story of two travellers, in a Calvino book, i know you must have read. It has only one page which says

"You are at the wheel of your car, waiting at the traffic light, you take the book out of the bag, rip off the transparent wrapping, start reading the first lines. A storm of honking breaks over you..."

No comments: