I won’t answer the phone. I won’t open the door for anyone to come in, neither for me to get out. I’ll just lie down on my bed, counting every imperfection on the ceiling, wrapping a strand of hair around my index finger and then smoothing it with the tip of my thumb. The sound of this sweeping will calm me down. And then I’ll just wait. I don’t want to remember, I don’t want to imagine, I just want my mind to be blank. It will be as white as the ceiling, and although there are also imperfections in it I won’t count them. Then my mind will be forgiven, absolved, freed. And I’ll keep waiting.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário