The secret is that I have a Secret. It's small and white and sometimes looks yellow and it has a tiny beak that's also an eye or a mouth or an open hand. Its name is hidden under its eyelids and you have to kill it to find out. You kill a secret by telling it.
There's a strange scent of sulphur in the room at the moment. At least I am writing. But I do wonder where the smell is coming from. It takes a fair bit of distance and little bit of resolution to really get at something. Or at least it takes honesty. The secrets I keep creep out on lined pages kept in red notebooks and eventually they sneak out of my mouth and into the ears of friends, like bowls catching falling fruit or dying birds in flight.
My eyes are heavy again. My head tightening. Tengo miedo.
Tengo miedo.
i'm not sure why this post isn't showing up properly...
ReplyDeleteyour writing is so pure and delicate and sensitive and really says it all so well I hesitate to comment lest i sully the fine effect of your delightful words.
ReplyDeleteps: that photo is amazing!
ReplyDeleteI am so honored by your comments, they are so sincere; thank you so much Jerome.
ReplyDelete