I had been wandering about in this big city for a few years already, after travelling through different dimensions in time warps. Nevertheless, I knew you can never escape from yourself, no matter how much you try. I had escaped from wars and dispair, sorrow and pain, leaving a few hard lives behind. I am a warrior of time, a warrior of life.
Life seemed hasty in this big city, but I had managed to find peace and calm. I found you, as expected, in the right place at the right time. You looked stranded in the middle of nowhere. Lost in a crowd of people. Surrounded by silence. Caught in a time lapse. I stared at you for a second. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ I said. My voice seemed to bring you back to life. I knew you were also running away, even if your body would not move a single inch and your feet were stuck to the ground, as if you were holding a huge weight on top of your back.
We looked around and the world froze out for a moment. We knew at once that the city was about to crash down above our heads. I grabbed you hand and I screamed: ‘Run!’
That morning, I woke up with a weirdest idea in my mind: I had decided to write a portrait.
I know one can only paint or draw a portrait, so the project of capturing a soul, writing on paper what others could paint on canvas, hatched in my head like the most absurd and delicious idea of any unthinkable ideas I might have ever had, like an urging resolution to go against all odds.
I had a plan. Of course, I had not yet figured out how I would make the dream come true, though. However, I knew that a whole life looking at people in the eye, trying to read in their hearts, would be an asset, and a beginning.
I reckoned the best way to see deep inside somebody’s soul would be capturing the moment when they were making love. The moment in which one gives away sanity, prejudice and fear. The moment the body makes place for the real passion and the colour of the soul. The moment for which one longs an entire life whilst lingering in delight in an instant, which suddenly disappears like a ghost in the dark.
I feel on top of the world. I believe I could fly. I look around and see the horizon all over around. I stare and wait for my reign to flare: in madness, desease, in pain. I see it flare bright and shine. I hold my breath to see my world in flames, out of the corner of my eye.
Deep inside my mind, the time rewinds. I see my life flying away. I see each time I wasted dreaming of you, right by my side. So close, so far, right at the reach of my own hand.
I still feel your fingertips drawing circles all over my skin. Your lips, so sweet, rolling over every inch of my desire. Ice and fire. I just wanted to fly higher. But I never did.
Once upon a time there was a bard with a harp; lovable, witty and smart. He used to sing every night in the Scarborough Fair; full of joy, full of life, full of heart. He was deeply in love with a star who would turn up at night with a mesmerizing flare; full of grace, full of light, full of spark.
But the bard soon learned that ‘not all that glitters is gold’. His star disappeared in the night, and he saw her vague and unreal as a ghost; made of calm, made of soul. He feared his star dead and gone from the sky, so his heart turned out cold; made of glass, made of stone.
I see your face
When I close my eyes
And I dream our fate
From dawn to dusk
A red-gold haze
Betrays my mind
And blurs my gaze
From dusk to dawn
I strive and pray
To see the light
Through your disdain
From dawn to dusk
Then you walk away
And the time rewinds
So I burst in pain
From dusk to dawn