Remembering what never happened – 1

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Just as the Sun sets and the Moon then rises, falls a part of me as the other one awakens.

29.07.2015

His dad is dead, he’s dead – don’t ask why, or how, or when. Dead. That would be insolent and insensitive. His father is dead: he is most surely at the cemetery in this very instant. Drive me through these amber, peaked dunes, to the gleaming white resting-ground of the dead. Pristine catacombs, mourning relatives, shrubs and gravel: as a girl dries a tear, I run to the stairs. Stay there in silence, I will be back with my prey.

The door creeks open: I wouldn’t want to disturb the unknown. A silhouette right in front of me, perched on the head of my shadow and leaning forward, gazing at what could be a mirror.
“I’m sorry. I had to”.
Half of his head had been shaved, the top of his head. Bald. His eyebrows were gone.
“Don’t ask why.”
Why? Why did I start to search for the strangest possible objects in the kitchen cupboards of the gloomy apartment?
“She left me, but my heart didn’t. I’m determined to get her back”, he says as he lies next to her. I should leave, he intimates, as he gently poses his burning lips on the sordid flower of his passion, laying lusciously beside him. Their love had obviously become whole again, two hearts conjoined anew.

Let’s go, back through the gravel, shrubs, mourning relatives and pristine catacombs, through the barren wastelands of a vortex of void: where will we ever end up?

The soothing softness of a mint-coloured carpet under my feet. Does this place exist outside of me or does this part of the world hang directly from one of my finger-tips? Everything is so tangible, realistic, it exists in its inexistence.

So many rooms, like the chambers of my mind. Mahogany room, dramatic stairs: enormous and puissant, a royal green carpet is the steps’ drape. The room has disappeared, or was it I who disappeared?
Take me to the library: third-floor, left-wing. It defies the laws of perception and physics: infinity circumscribed by four walls. An enchanted cage. Third-floor, not second: there there is a room of mirrors, corners and eternal sunset. Come quick, take me there, the turquoise humble-bumble, turbulent room of my dreams.

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