The endless summer.

taken in the summer of 2012. 

I thought this would be easier or quicker but in this life of mine apparently nothing is easy or quick; if it is, it is just a lie and nothing else, I keep telling to myself.

Breaking dawn with Rosa, how it must have been, is almost perfect, but not perfect for me, nor for her. I’m breathing in silence, because it is the only thing that’s present. The two of us are only ghosts, because it is my only desire, and sometimes also hers.

She is sitting, tightening her right hand.
Of course, nothing strange about that since that is the side of her that was always hurting her, both emotionally and physically. She was missing her right side, I was gifted with my left. The two of us are one.

‘Why are you quiet?’, I asked her.
‘Do I need to tell anything?’, she answered.
‘No’, I said nervously ‘just sit and be still.’

And then I began to sweat. I was nervous, my hands were shaking. I would say something like ‘Oh, the light falls beautifully across your face’ just to kill the silence around us, but it keeps pressing harder.
And then I would just get out of the room.
I’m washing my face, and the water keeps burning though it is freezing cold. Colder than anything I felt, and this is the warmest summer.

I shot the whole film and it is too early for me to take another one. ‘No worries’, I would say to myself, ‘this is the longest time of your life’.  

I always somehow return to that same place, hurting myself. I keep cutting through the same scars and breaking my bones all over again. But then again, these are some wounds that have slipped through the grasp of my memory and only emptiness resides there.

I don’t remember Rosa in the beginning. I keep lying in my bed, I don’t want and I can’t move.
One blink, a whole week has passed and I haven’t seen her , and every moment felt like a lifetime. She is nowhere, standing by the window. She is posing, royally, because she never anything else.
I took my camera and made a photograph. The moment was frozen and saved, but it matters not because the memory fades and consciousness disappears.

I don’t know a lot of things in this life of mine, but I always keep thinking about the things I know.
Every cherry that I ate with her became a new memory for me. Every memory became a new scene. Every scene was a new portrait. Every portrait was a new face. The face is new, she is the same and so and so on.

And the summer has just begun.