This article is purely fictional and may cause discomfort. Please take care of yourself while reading.
Not a grand manifesto, but a daily practice.
My lingering memories have slipped away like this,
in utter silence—the shape they ought to have taken here is now beyond my grasp,
no matter how I search.
But why? There’s nothing to grieve about, is there?
You’re still here, only my memories have suddenly gone empty,
insignificant as they are,
and I can still be as I was before.
You’ll be as you were before too, I know that.
But it hurts so much. Why, why, I don’t know.
You are, you are? I am, I am?
To me, I cannot see the beginning of that segment of rope.
I don’t know when the knot will loosen its grip on me,
or if when you leave,
I’ll only then discover the knot was already gone,
leaving only me standing here in place… …
Do not judge whether your stance before disaster looks beautiful or not.
Just lean on me.
Cling to me desperately.
Pour all your fears, contradictions, even those thoughts of “wanting to push me away,” all of it onto me.
