~ underwater conversations.

Sometimes a story only matters because of the person you want to share it with.

Æ

~ “I feel you in my bones. Your silence screams in my ears. You may nail your mouth shut, you may cut out your tongue, can you keep yourself from existing?” — Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

[‘untitled_37’ by ~dihaze.]

~ The hurricane diary by Emmanuelle Brisson.

Maybe because I make funny voices when I tell stories, or because I love sit-coms with silly jokes. Maybe because I lack the grace and ‘eat my teeth red’ on cherries or because I’m too loud, too proud, too weak and too strong, too tempered over things for too long. Maybe because my image is mightier than me and my super-hero costume isn’t shiny. Or maybe because I need too many answers or ask too many questions. Maybe because I dance when I have to pee, or maybe because I’m not ambitious enough when it’s about me. Maybe because I’m a drifter or maybe because I’m always there, maybe because I forget I’m clumsy and ride my bike with my hands in the air. Maybe because I lead armies, attacking windmills, maybe because I admire things from past centuries. Maybe because I’m like a pawn, running before the queen, getting killed as the first one, in the very first scene. Maybe because I love too much and need too much love in return or maybe because I hurt too easily and heal too fast yet never learn. Or maybe because I couldn’t find the magic word to break the spell, maybe because I’m too much of a mystery in my own shell.