being swallowed up a day can feel like eternity - timeless - and being spat out, on the shores of time, can feel like a rebirth, like you've come back someone else. yesterday was a hundred years, erin. i feel like i've returned an old man with a inscrutable smile. and nothing happened, absolutely nothing. all?
exactly! all? nothing? i can't discern any more. but i am glad to be back. hours. years. persons. and yet i didn't move.and you're back with an inscrutable smile. let me be careful. i'll look it up -shit. i thought is was good. instead it is: incapable of being searched into or scrutinized. not easily understood or known.i don't know. is that good? where do we go in days, years, hours?xoerin
it's not good, because it removes you from life and the people who live it. their (our) smiles are transparent. don't worry, it's just that all of me hasn't returned yet, but it will. then i'll smile a smile that's also a wish, a wish for you to see through me. where do we go, erin? where do we go?
and in that place, or unplaceare we made, or unmade?i do not know. this is most chilling. that we go and do not know.strange how you and i passed from here to there at the same time. i've seen it with a few other people as well. is it the season? the moon? some electrical pulse? or just chance?odd.xoerin
"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))