I realized my comfort could be achieved if I wrapped my arms around you. And my legs upon you too.
I wonder if you can feel my inch of a thought.
One thought that I keep, a solace, is the running of a moment. Someone once compared it to the ground barely touching a wheel in motion. I now wish I knew the exact phrase just so I can convey it’s space. I want to put into words without the description, the existence of the ground and wheel barely meeting –and I don’t know how.
This new era, for me announces my vulnerabilities, all my own right away. Am I brave enough? For now I am not: because I come from pleasure-masked suffering, I come from the hell of not loving and I am not free of you.
I am uncomfortable.
I am now listening to the pop music coming from a coming car, with its pounding bass where an Albanian boy lives the present. The music is now a light echo, another instant gone, and something terrible happens to me.
It’s that this will all pass. I shall pass. I can’t stop and I’m scared. And I am not at the moment where the real pounding has stopped but in the middle, where I will take up the drum soon. It only now has revealed the tree. Do I dare look at the deep roots lying beneath? I don’t write from the depths of roots but at the shadow of the tree on the edge. I write the glimpse of the roots.