A monologue is the most essential part of a dialogue we have very rarely with the silence that is there, lying hidden, somewhere in some corners of our body. I often wonder whether all I say is for you or them or just to talk to myself and shred my weariness. My growing, frowning weariness of my withering mind which has otherwise no where to take refuge and cry.
Do I cry? Of course I do. I do it always. There's a strange relief to see the salts coming out of pale brown throat. It makes me feel my skin for real. Clears my eyes from a strange dissolution. Possibly it saves me from drowning. I am always so full of fear with lights. Lights that talk too much and makes me feel unreal.
What makes you so free? So flowing? So much careless ? I always wanted to ask but couldn't. Should I ask you now when you're far and silent ? Gone and never returning?
Do I care for your answer? I do! But more than that I am glad to talk. To be able to write. To be able to see myself slowly etching lights on my foreboding shadows!
And possibly that's why I would be inseparable with Monologues! Ever!