fragments, Non classé, poetry, prose, writing

The (question) mark

This was what I needed to hear. She told me everything I needed to hear, it worked. I think. For a moment at least. I wasn’t sure as to the reasons why it didn’t last though. Something inside just broke, vanished, went away. As quick as it once came, it disappeared. And I could sense this void, nothing but a void. Not a hole, nothing deep, no limb hurting, no marks. Nothing, at all.

I waited for each and every last one of her words to come out, sounds ringing nicely to my ears, meanings stimulating unknown places in my brain. It all made sense for a while, how things turned out, how they needed to change, how they needed to be escaped. That was before. And before that, there was another before. But what was to come after that, the now of it, was still under a strange veil. Something not quite graspable, even now, thinking about it, it seems impossible to measure. Ineffable, as they say in some foreign language. A strange word, that is. But then again, a strange feeling too.

It didn’t take long to appear. Something close to wanderlust, or not exactly. How do you call a need to escape? The closest thing is a need to discover places, to travel. So it was settled quickly; wanderlust. Although it was pretty clear, words are not always on your side. Words erase and bring back, just like that. A snap of fingers, and there you have it. Memories, good, bad – no difference. It is just the way it is.

For a moment a word took me somewhere else. I saw myself. Me, the real me, or was it an idealized version? Certainty is never easy. I was light, litteraly. No burden, no gloom. Lightness in every sense, is that possible. I should have ended that with a question mark – I won’t. There is always going to be a need to convince yourself of something. Question marks won’t help.


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