I have been examining each line, each shape, trying. Trying to come up with it. Trying to come with what could be deemed appropriate for this given situation.
I wanted to find the right language, the correct feeling. I wanted to impress you.
I thought about persuading you of some kind of mythology. My own. Or yours.
I thought about becoming your reflection. Your exact opposite. Everything that you despise about yourself, something for me to love.
And you. You, my mirror. Each word that is hung so embarrasingly and awkwardly on this page.
I thought about persuading you of my timelessness. Imprinting myself with permanence, with infinity. I am from no time.
I thought about writing this by candlelight with an overwhelming sense of urgency, having awoken, yet again inside an impossible feeling that could only be described as a thick terror, and that the only thing that could relieve me of this condition was to walk.
And please, don't be upset by my clichés, they simply best represent my experience, best represent my ritual.
I walk. I walk to enter the lines that were imagined by another. Originating inside a vision that was never my own.I am referring to him, the shadow. The manifest image.
Have you thought much about shadows? I have spent quite some time wondering about them lately. How could it be for instance, that shadows impose their boundary onto light and that light cannot spread beyond this boundary?
The answer, of course, is universal rule. Ratio. Symmetry.