something hangs in the air, hidden in the space between silences, interlacing its hands with the dot at the end of each sentence – yes, the dot, it is the dot, that tiny symbol, the pupil of my eye looking at you, nervous, the pupil of your eye lost in another point a small, sharpened symbol that slices through the veil of reality and opens a narrow crack through which your thoughts spill, but the veil is still there, you are still here, with me, and I would dare say it is worse – that ache clinging to your skin that I cannot erase, the breath of a memory fogging the air, an interest I cannot quite grasp, a smile stretched too tight, words written in lines too straight, slipping from my lips too abruptly I search for the words and cannot find them, I yank at them violently to make them come out, a frayed thread, a thread that does not want to be seen, coiling in on itself, evoking the image of a snake to hide its fear – and I beg you to forgive me, to let the past dissolve like laughter in the air.
