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Between the Doors
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I always hug the old willow tree, and talk to him through the hollow.
I wish I could go far away. Away from what I have known.
Away from what I owned. Away from my love.
I am the escaped one. I take a journey to the unknown.
It is the spirit that travels, it is the spirit that is experienced.
I hold the key.
Open the door. I want to go anywhere else.


An afternoon in the classroom. Breathe on the desk, the mist formed and faded.
We are in the same room in silence.
I notice that the consistency disappear.
We have been left behind. We both look at each other.
Take me to the city. You promise.
We run through the inner alley of the city.
I loved to touch the aged and mossy walls with my fingertips.
We never slow down the pace.
At the fork, the infant in the cardboard boxes.
At the fork, a man in white, stained unexpectedly.
At the fork, a wanderer covers his ears and kneels in the crowd.
We run into high walls again and again. We make a detour as you said.
We never slow down the pace until we arrive in front the door.
Ｉgive you the key without the least hesitation. 
Open the door. We want to go anywhere else.


I can’t keep up with you.

Until I hear the sound, the sound of the key drop on the floor.
I realize that I shouldn’t make excessive demands.
I should embrace the solitude after I was born.

I know, I alone
How much it hurts, this heart
With no faith nor law
Nor melody nor thought.


Open the door. I want to go anywhere else.
I feel a shiver go through in a dream.
He has escaped it more than I.
And he escapes it more easily than I.
I’m naked and plunge into the water.
I can’t breathe, can’t speak.
I struggle as if breaking free from a rift.
Inch by inch I feel on my skin.

I walk through the water, feel exhausted but can’t move forward.
I try to adjust breathe. All at once, the view I see become clear again.
I can breathe easier now that I perceive that I throw myself in the water.
I know I have a choice, I want to go anywhere else.
I find myself in a hole, at the bottom of a hole, in almost total solitude, curl up with a vast
emptiness.
I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up. I sleep and I unsleep. On the other side of me, beyond where I lie down, the silence of the house touches infinity.
I look up at the canopy of books. I stare at the impossibly whirling in the absolute darkness.
I return to the newborm period, in the state of slumber I can do no wrong and are unconscious of life.

I have nothing on.

I carry unknown, writing is a way of knowing.
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd.
The lone withered tree in the snow.

It’s time to go.
I hold the key. I search my way of life.
Open the door. I can go anywhere else.
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