The body heats up, the temperature rises. It feels like an artist diving deep into the Blues on his acoustic Guitar. No resistance.
The haunting, the unfamiliarity, the shivers in the body, yet a longing to dive in further and farther, until I let go. Completely.
Should I let go completely?
Is there not a world made entirely of seductive dreams and magic, all dark and gothic beyond fear?
There must be, for all imaginations must have some fragments of truth, or they wouldn’t exist in someone’s head.
And this one has been in my head since forever.
And this one pulls me like gravity.
Like an addict longing for heroin.
Like an artist longing for inspiration.
Finally, this one demands that I let go.
To let go of all there is, of all I am made of and surrounded by. No resistance.
This one demands my life as it is.
And I’ve had moments where I did all of that, touched the periphery, and came back, losing a drop of my sanity. Every time.
Have I finally gone insane?
Or are there still a few drops left?
And if yes, for how long?
Because for this one, I am now willing to lose it all.
Soon.
Very soon.
I have to resist. Only for now…
The kind of writing that shows up uninvited, barefoot, at 3 a.m.
