I’m wearing six heads and know it is a trick of the blind man who balances horses on sticks behind the elephant’s house. Once I visited a castle, the king had built a room for music. Visitors were not allowed to dance. Women watched from balconies those who watched them watching. Did they not know that distance caused longing, more than being close. Maybe they knew. Dream of a dance. Now it is all in my head and I am anxious to forget soft shawls and deep blue curtains.
Why do we need curtains when everything is dark and if we have light, why do we hide? Those who are quiet grow deeper underground. Then they just disappear without anyone noticing them disappear. Till one day we fall into hollows.
Every time you bought coins, I thought this should be my ride, without someone else paying. When I entered the carrousel, the music stopped playing and all I did was look at you to forget that everyone else was looking at me, you envied, at other times you said it was not true, I tried to be quiet, a whisper, but they would still find me, maybe they could see those six heads that I grew when I watched women behind curtains. Wasn't it enough that I looked at you?
Every time I think I have figured it out, I realise that all I know is schemes, silhouettes, playing with monkeys. Suddenly I am caught in this net and I know it must be the blind man who knows how to spin a cocoon around my skin while balancing horses. Those kids, they had figured it out immediately and started imitating my absentmindedness, hollow, I was not in the game, it did not matter to lose or to win, nothing mattered but that it was late and I was lost in a yellow fog of cocoons. How to get out of it now, if only we had kept walking.
I said I was happy, I remember and it was true and you said nothing watching the heat finding its way from my lips to your cup and then we walked up to that bridge where a hidden sign post made me tumble and lose every sense of direction.
After that everything changed.
Because I was told that elephants grew behind fences in a tiny garden that belongs to a tiny house, too tiny for anyone to live in. I want to live there, but I just will not shrink, my skin is too large, it does not fit into any place, not even the tree house. Maybe I should call the blind man, tell him to keep weaving and sleep, very long, in his yellow garden.
As if an avalanche has been set loose, I knew it the moment I realised you could slowly lift the curtain without moving. I had lost you for a second when you had shifted your pace and you knew how to make spaces in the sidewalk to catch me falling. I am all bare now still trying to hold on to something, quietly, cocoons, all of them have burst, I have grown out of every hour.