Who needs all this talk. This
analyze, understand all this, the emotions flayed to see them naked and raw, perhaps all this wrong all the time, punish himself, think again, carry out, however, feel that float on clouds of questions and are deposited as tea leaves on the bottom of the cup.
Downstairs, in the blind alley where I live, cars parked car radio turned on and with people whispering. Puddles of icy water that reflect light blades twisted. The police cars and road that fall neatly into barracks.
In the silence of the night between Saturday and Sunday I did the hardest thing in the world. I removed the boxes from the cd and I have placed all in the library, one by one, a year after the move.
After completing the transaction, at 4:38 am, I knew for sure why I waited so long to decide to take this step. Letters, cards, photos, dates, words that jumped out like confetti from a bag, totally uncontrolled and totally unexpected. Stuff that has not yet found a place in this house, which perhaps do not find it. Stuff that has no place anywhere: no one knows it and the few who know do not remember it, then who needs to re-read, to understand and bare all? And if you do not need, what to do with the disproportionate amount of memories that are already lost, because it impossible to share?
In the end, there it is, the library filled with colored discs that I dreamed of for years. All dusted and sorted alphabetically. All: uncensored, with no provisions whatsoever. A journey that began in 2001, when I was given my first CD player.
All that was not music, cleaned, piled, and locked inside a box I put it in the end in a top shelf. A kind of middle ground of judgments suspended. Then I sat back and I started to read the new novel Byatt.
that moment I thought I liked, and I was exhausted.
Brava blonde.
The dust that accumulated and taken off with the duvet, it flew out the window as it should. I swallowed me.
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