The fingers can only touch, envision the shape of that one moment that could make us whole, feel complete, feel as though this world has a time and a place where our shapes would fit easily. A place where we could – for once – feel we belong, instead of this awkward world whose corners are always sharp against us, whose corridors are long and dark. The place where we spend endless night times searching for that one open door that will lead us out of this maze of corridors and rooms, out into a world where spring awaits us with its promises.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The shapes Of Things
It comes out of distances. Time and space stretch outwards from the moment in which we stand here and now. Everything always lies just out of reach of outstretched arms.
The fingers can only touch, envision the shape of that one moment that could make us whole, feel complete, feel as though this world has a time and a place where our shapes would fit easily. A place where we could – for once – feel we belong, instead of this awkward world whose corners are always sharp against us, whose corridors are long and dark. The place where we spend endless night times searching for that one open door that will lead us out of this maze of corridors and rooms, out into a world where spring awaits us with its promises.
The fingers can only touch, envision the shape of that one moment that could make us whole, feel complete, feel as though this world has a time and a place where our shapes would fit easily. A place where we could – for once – feel we belong, instead of this awkward world whose corners are always sharp against us, whose corridors are long and dark. The place where we spend endless night times searching for that one open door that will lead us out of this maze of corridors and rooms, out into a world where spring awaits us with its promises.
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