Sunday, April 19, 2015

Friction

Becoming a little bit of everyone when we close our eyes.

How do you know about those bridges and which steps to take and which to leave aside?

I hear your voice in my head, it says, don’t be scared. I am not scared, I am just precautious. Maybe because I feel responsible. Maybe because I have been here before and know the crossroads that turn into alleys with dead ends. The sidewalk is overgrown with weeds of expectations. I have adopted the habit of walking on the road. Right in the middle. Where the breeze of both directions causes friction on my skin. I like this friction. It makes me feel alive. Strangers passing by. Sometimes I catch the glimpse of a stranger’s eyes. A canvas of reflections. My own depth determines how far I walk inside. I grow deeper with time. I lay out a thread and create my own labyrinth over a layer of labyrinths over a layer. 

I forget how I got inside, beginning and end merge into one single point. Awareness without time.