How come you are still here?
Are you really here?
Have you ever been here?
What happened to all those temptations of talent?
Didn’t you always wish to swim in the infinity of your socks?
You are still waiting?
I’m always waiting, waiting for the wind that never blows, for the chimney that never smokes,
and the reality that never comes true.
I’m so steeped in the expectation that my feet can not go any further...
It has been a lifetime that this chair and I have been companions on this journey, the chair I have been waiting.
Waiting for a love, a shadow, an apple...
Can you hear the sound of water?
It’s my socks; they are still blue.