The trees made of cotton candy on my street. The treacherous spring kisses them to bloom and then freezes them. The wind plays with the petals fallen on the cubic stone and pink tornadoes rise between the houses. The walls disintegrate in pink petals and float in the air. Outlandish clouds sweep the black sky after the rain. A plane passes through the window frame. As if it were a sign, the sun explodes, the sky becomes light blue, the clouds perfect and white, like in Magritte’s paintings. A seagull passes with a high pitched cry and the sun disappears. The windows steam up, the wet road gleams, the car headlights shimmer. The cold wind creeps under the window sill and makes the pale curtains shiver. The cars roar incessantly like the blood through my veins. Inside the cars there are people that I will never know. In the kitchen the radio gives voice to the beings locked inside its tiny box, with their harsh, incomprehensible language, they are joyful and singing or maybe they are forced to be like that. My feet are frozen. I play Led Zeppelin on my laptop and the guitar vibrates in my chest. I ain’t jokin’ woman, I gotta ramble. Inside me a wave is rising and crashing. I am a persona in a movie whose ending is identical for all the characters. Ceci n’est pas une vie. Loss of self, as if the mirror did not reflect my image back. Without touch the body forgets it exists. I would smoke a cigarette, it would fit this scene in the movie, but I quitted. Pour la sante! Until the end! On the floor lie scattered clothes, photographs, airplane tickets, newspaper clips, postcards, letters, posters, books, badges, post-it’s with few handwritten words – hours, minutes, days when I felt intensely, pieces of me that no longer fit in the luggage. The people, all and one, will continue to breathe without me in the city to which I say goodbye and I will carry inside me. Toujours.
Text published in Romanian at liternet
For the Romanian version of this text go here