I Was Only Air to Them

My limbs ache, and my whole body feels stiff. I stretch and become aware of the rain pattering against the window. I’ve been so absorbed in my work that I didn’t even notice the day had already grown dim. I get up, stretch my sore limbs, open the living‑room balcony door, and let the rain‑scented air flow inside. After that, I brew a cup of coffee. From the radio, a woman’s voice drifts in:

“…they never really saw me, refused to see who I truly was. They couldn’t stand my existence. When I tried to take my own life, they turned their backs on me. They were irritated that I didn’t succeed. I’ve never gotten over how coldly they treated me afterward. How do you get past something like that? How do you forget it? How do you forgive it? I feel as if I vanished after that moment. I didn’t die physically, but in some inexplicable way, I stopped existing. And when I later tried to talk to them about it, they just said what they always say: ‘What were we supposed to do?’”

The woman is one of those afflicted with the fading disease. How many of them have already disappeared? A cheerful radio jingle bursts into the air. I decide to leave the balcony door open; it’s time to get back to work.

Ink Stains

The ink stains appeared again. I don’t understand where they come from. What do they really want?

Goddess of Creativity

You, of course, think I am blinded by madness when I speak of voices. You imagine I mean those voices drawn to evil, those that bend their masters toward acts of cruelty. You are sorely mistaken, my friend. I speak of the voices of the goddess of creativity — voices that have conjured thousands of worlds before my eyes, so that I might behold them and marvel at their exquisite details.

I, an Outsider

I have always been an outsider—at home, among friends, in the world, even in my own skin. Only my mind refuses to cast me out.

The Sea Within

Today I smell the sea in me.

Embrace of the Frost

During the night, frost has cloaked the earth with its passion-laden kisses. 

Gallery Encounters

An old man sat beside me, gazing at the painting of infinity. Though we did not know each other and had arrived at our own times, following our own paths, I was overtaken by the feeling that we had come together to admire the work. It always took my breath away with its overflowing beauty. Around us, there was the soft rustle of coats, the clatter of footsteps, and occasional coughs as visitors moved from one piece to another; yet we were so moved that we existed in our own separate world.

We have met here before, always sitting side by side in front of this same painting. Today, I stepped into the gallery bathed in amber light, the autumn storm still raging inside me. His presence always felt like a warm embrace.

I do not know what made me lay my hand on his soft, wrinkled hand. To my surprise, the man did not recoil; I saw tears kissing his life-hungry face.

The Sea Slime

The woman said, 'I am a sinking sea slime; slimy, cold, leathery, shapeless. I live in the mud at the bottom of the sea, listening to its roar. Is this what the sound of the Earth is like? She takes care of me, guides me to where there is food, keeps dangers away. She comforts me with his ever-present being. I see nothing, for I have no eyes. I hear only the roar, and I feel the eternal current of life on my skin; I am programmed to tremble and pulse in its rhythm.'