somewere in lima
And in a way, a pain like that is liberating because it makes life slow down to a tired procession of moments, tied together by a focus made infinite in the withdrawal from external reality. I don’t mean to be melodramatic, but you have to have known that place where the world has slowed down, aching almost to a stop, in the shadow of a pain or illness so persistent and immediate that it fills every conscious thought with its presence. Yesterday I laid in bed for over twenty four hours, tossing, sleeping, rolling, shitting for an entire day and night, too weak to eat, let alone to get up, stuck in a recurring moment inside our smelly room without windows. The moment never ends but somehow the day has passed without you.
And in a way, a pain which refuses time is enlightening, a stripping of plans and expectations and mental blocks all put up with the pretext of our own continued survival, safety mechanisms, conscious or otherwise, to keep the world sane and our feet moving when all there seems to be is madness and cruelty. Injustice and misfortune and pity and rationality all fade and fade and fade and in their supportive place I found a familiar face coalescing in the darkness and all that fear and loneliness folded under the weight of a love I can’t allow to be present for its promise of distance and my terrified staticity. But she was all I thought about, curled in my sleeping bag without the comfort of sleep or transcendence, lost in the possibility of a single infinite moment which never cedes again her presence.