I’m writing something. Lots of fire metaphors. Maybe that started the night we lit approx. 249 matches and held them, watching them burn out with all the fascination of a child discovering bubble wrap.
It is becoming apparent to me that I have been asking the wrong questions my entire life. So here it is, five years too late.
“Which one of us will forget the other first?”
Forget, forget, and let us live now
only this, how the stars pierce through
cleared nocturnal sky; how the moon’s whole disk
surmounts the gardens. We’ve sensed so long already
how the darkness breeds many mirrors: how a gleam
takes shape, a white shadow in the radiance
of night. But now let us cross over
and invest this world where
everything is lunar-
-Rainer Maria Rilke
(translated from German)
Chopin, music for dreaming