lørdag den 25. november 2017

tired little wanderings in weathered memory palace gardens
can I keep the keys?
suddenly finding yourself somewhere very calm, and the way the air turns crisp when it's cold like certain apples
waking up many times in the night to readjust your understanding of reality

Recently I woke up and had forgotten who you were. Everything was new, it was the early still darkness of the coming day, and I spent several moments not knowing. I didn't know anything else either, nor myself, but it was your presence that pricked. It's a strange feeling, being so clean. Love came to me first. Not because that was the most authentic part of our relation. Perhaps it was simply something I'd dreamt? It was lucky, anyway.

I have a cold, and I'm summoning smells: candle light, melting butter, your skin post-sex.

From Friday I'll be working with frozen moments. Of course, in reality mornings like that one - the fourth time I open my eyes during five hours of uneasy rest to shift the connections of our skin - the taste of happiness in a dream of doing something which usually frightens - the creaking of wood as I walk over the floors of an emptying hall to say goodbye to people I love not for no reason - are more complex that what can be captured visually. But it's remembering that's the trick. Building rooms to visit later, with the tapestry of precious details.