I can’t… My breasts hurt again. My streets and stones around my play ground seem unfamiliar. More grey, more leaden… The reality is trying to swallow the warm sand in my stomach, it is trying to package and turn it into a post card. But I am struggling. I want it to be there, to make me heavy every morning, to force me into motion.
I am “same but different”.
I crawl out of my sheets putting a story together in my mind about the Palestinian children with empty eyes… I let my heart be quicker than my mind, embracing all of them in my thoughts. Ashamed of the luxury of having drinkable water in my crane, every day, every day! The Swedish water, the man on the plane described as delicious – and me, I have never even given it a thought.
My thoughts are like magnets on the fridge, useless and barely sticking to my tiny and very well polished reality.
Oh Pawel, I attributed so many characteristics to you
which are just not you
maybe because your name is the same as his
but even your predecessor lacked the deepness
We walked together for a while
I loved the funny name you gave me
Montana
And now I am letting go of my illusion
makes me feel little lonely in this passage
from one reality to the other
Sergej is becoming less two dimensional
and the world of endless possibilities is slowly moving away
I struggle to keep it, this adventurous part
I refuse to be the same as before
I want to be Montana a little while longer
but she is somewhere in the ruins of Petra
waving to me
until we meet again
somewhere in the world where I am the same
but the mirrors are different
Post je objavljen 20.05.2008. u 22:36 sati.