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Having no home to go back to,
neither a body nor a past,
    Trauma made her realise that her body is fungible, and so is time, and so is space.




Breathe,  don’t hold your breath.

I’m     searching, 
        I’m searching. 
             I’m trying to understand.

\\\\\\Each moment of finding is getting lost.







               I saw. 

               I know I saw            because I didn’t give my meaning to what I saw. 

               I know I saw — 
               because I don’t understand. 
               I know I saw — because there’s no point to

               what I saw.

    

                                    what i saw smashes my daily life.    

                                                 Take what i saw, deliver me from my useless vision, and from my useless sin.




I can only accept that I get lost if I imagine that you are holding my hand.


                    
                    
                Oh, at least at the beginning, just at the beginning. As soon as I can

                let go, I will go alone. In the meantime I must hold this hand of yours — though I

                can’t invent your face and your eyes and your mouth. Yet even amputated, that hand

                doesn’t scare me. Its invention comes from such an idea of love as if the hand

                really were attached to a body that I don’t see only because I can’t love enough. I

                cannot imagine a whole person because I am not a whole person. And how can I imagine

                a face without knowing what expression I need? As soon as I can release your warm

                hand, I’ll go alone and with horror. The horror will be my responsibility until the

                metamorphosis is complete and the horror becomes light. Not the light born of a

                desire for beauty and moralism, as before without realizing I intended; but the

                natural light of whatever exists, and it is that natural light that terrorizes me.

                Though I know that the horror — I am the horror in the face of things.









Could what I saw have been love?
            But what love is as blind as that of an
               egg-cell?
                                                   was that it? that horror, was that
                                                                       love? a love so neutral that —