Colours are brighter on the edge and smells are sharper.
Borders are important.
There is no summer at the equator or winter at the North Pole –
a Winter Wonderland is impossible there, for there would be no wonder in it.
Love is equally impossible in hell and in paradise, for without choice there is only acquiescence.
I know of nothing more poignant than fall leaves in the snow,
they make you wonder and draw your breath in sudden joy.
Life is what happens on the border with death.
I would like to make you a present of fog.
This fog, surrounding us now.
It makes our world small, hiding everything further than arm’s length,
yet things disappear in it so softly and smoothly –
there is no possible way to define the border,
there is no horizon,
there is no end.
It is vague and cosy – a down-soft infinity.
Join me.
I would like to make you a present of this light,
a sudden splash of colour in the fog,
defining the piercing beauty of a tree-branch,
its intricate form alone in a sea of shapelessness –
the sudden joy of discovery.
Gasp with me.
I would like to make you a present of my world,
of all that I learned over the years,
patiently collecting shapes and colours,
thoughts and feelings,
moulding them together,
creating something unique and precious.
Look at me.
But you can only have your gift returned so many times
before you finally realise that this person REALLY doesn’t want a silver toast rack.
And that a silver toast rack is all that you have to give.
The fog condenses into tears on my cheeks
and evaporates in the bright sunlight.
The wind of time is getting stronger.
It blows through the layers of defence
and chills me to the bone.
Hold me tight
against the wind,
against the tide of time,
against the world.
Fill up my field of vision with your face,
block out every sound with your whisper,
and every taste – with kisses.
Let’s pretend.
The night invades us from the sea.
The fog steals in upon the shore.
It mutes all colours, merges shapes
until horizon disappears
and the enormity of space
envelops mind and muffles soul.
Please…
hold me.
Over the years
I became so used to seeing myself reflected in your eyes –
I forget to look in the mirror…
At the end of the day,
this is the only reflection that matters.
