I try to lighten the weight on my shoulders for a moment. I breathe deep and look around: the high grass, no sunbeams, the endless and vacuous distance from everything. Today is one of those days in which I do not recognise myself. The tiredness I feel and the reticence of my heart force my mind to dispel the fog confining my memories. Everything around falls resolutely silent and in the grey sky I only manage to find his eyes. Seaeyes brushes distant lands, too far away from me, where I buried secrets like treasures. To later run away, without destination, so far away from myself that I lost my way. To search his Seaeyes in every corner of grey, imagining them astray, going through storms and shipwrecks, to reach and caress my body’s shore, so worn now and so tired under the weight of regrets.
Going back to the way of life they had designed for me was a step back to the start point: I was convinced I could take everything I ever had back and I had no idea how strongly the whole warded me off. No matter how hard I tried to go back to the usual automatisms, lacking in stimulus and intelligence, everything shouted at me the futility of narrow spaces, too confined considering what I carried within.
And the more I tried to bury the flame the more seethed the heart.
And nights of damp sheets passed and so did dawns full of belief, but inside it was always dark. I started feeling hate arising and setting roots deep inside, forcing me to stand face to face to my regrets, demanding nonsense answers. For they were all lies I told myself to mitigate the pain of guilt.
Today I look at this dull sky and my lands’ desert and think I painted them with the colours of my conscience. The wind weaves through the bare trees’ branches, just as everything I left and keeps wandering through my memory like ghosts.
I forgot nothing, I really don’t know how to forget the burden of all the absences I belong to and I never said goodbye to, absences I hold as conviction.
I read how time questions itself in each wrinkle, how thoughts concentrate to balance to the colours I carry on my face.
I let my eyelids fall over my pupils, so distant and lively, and I feel how I travel through my long journey again, through the deepest torments of my conscience, to reach once again those Seaeyes I return to with my mind, as if my whole life was limited to that meeting.
I realise how easier it would have been if I condemned my frustration to oblivion.
I could not, for I can give up the sea but not his memory.