My picture and I
In a paper read, years ago, that hell was made up of the eye thoroughly engaged in watching us. The phrase, then, was not Borges and Sabato or Sartre or mine.
[...] As for me, years ago I learned the art of shaving to touch, to avoid the view of the mirror, to get to work without the burden of another depression.
is that my picture - you show me - moves, has long been separated from me. While I remain
teenager calm, interested in what matters, kind and humble and the amazing indifference sure that there are no answers, her, my face has aged, it has become bitter and perhaps it is running or make up stories that are not mine but it. 0,001 words
0 comments:
Post a Comment