"They turn the key in the door, take out
their old, well-hidden letters, read them quietly,
then drag their feet a final time.
Their life has been a tragedy, they say.
God! people's frightful laughter,
and the tears, the sweat, nostalgia
of the skies, the landscape's solitude.
They stand there by the window, gazing at
the trees, the children, all of nature,
at the marble-workers hammering away,
the sun that wants to set forever.
It's over. Here's the note --
appropriately short, profound, and simple,
full of indifference and forgiveness
for whoever's going to weep and read it.
They look in the mirror, look at the time,
ask if it's madness maybe, a mistake.
'It's over now' they murmur;
deep down, of course, they're going to put it off."
Imaginary Suicides - K. Karyotakis (translated)
Some friendships begin with a single pen and an eraser, a strange drawing on the wall, a word in the back of a notebook...
In my case, everything started and ended with a loss of a life. Well...
Hello, again. Fancy seeing you here. Again. Let me guess. You have absolutely no clue of what I am talking about. Again. I know, I know... I almost forgot about you too. But we have met before.
What you are about to read is nothing else than a dead man's journal. Sort of.
I may be aware of your thoughts right now. A dead man... writing? Exactly. Or maybe... Wait.
I really cannot fathom. This is what I've been trying to figure out all this godforsaken time. What I do know is, though, that I'm neither in hell nor am I in heaven. I am nowhere. I am...
How I'd wish I could scream. Just scream. To fill this deafening silence. So loud and for so long, until my lungs run out of every bit of air. I feel cursed. Haunted. In the beginning, I wanted to have everything. But I couldn't. No one cared. Now, I have everything, but I'm feeling trapped. I am running out of time. I may be wrong, yet... I don't know how to break free. I wish I did back then...
Now, you. Before I continue, I'd like to hit pause and rewind.