Och kom ihåg: det är inte flickan i filmen som har skrivit brevet.
The other self
On my way home from an endless walk.
Walking, but getting nowhere.
One step forward, two steps back.
Barefoot along the road.
Shoes in my hands.
The sun is rising behind my back.
Yet another day to come.
The shadow is asking me who the fuck the person is who prevents him to see the sun.
I tell him I no longer know.
I see children playing on an open field.
Kites are flying in the sky.
Wishing I was a kite.
An extended self, flying in the sky.
Free, but yet restrained.
Held onto the ground by strings attached to something stabile.
Up there, I would be free.
But I am not a kite. And therefore I am not free.
I come to a graveyard.
The sun is warm.
Yet I feel cold.
I walk through the graveyard.
The thought of the dead makes me feel alive and warm.
I remember that I am alive. Yet I feel dead inside.
I come home.
I look into the mirror.
Who is that person staring at me?
With eyes tired and red, no longer open and hungry to see more.
With lips still wearing red lipstick that earlier framed words that now make me sick.
The lipstick has faded. So has my memory.
Who is that person in the mirror? I no longer know.
I am thinking, if only I had some safety pins.
The safety pins would prevent my world from falling apart.
They would tie me down. Attach me to some kind of foundation.
I am asking myself where I can find some.
It hits me and I remember. Remember that I no longer know.
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