In pursuit of an induced therapy I find truly necessary that sweet breaking of an older instance of myself back into the faded pieces that projected once much more sense than the today’s complete puzzle, shining back at me, carved into a shapeless mirror…

Above any misdirection from the outer world I manage to dream again at you, the one that once made possible my recurrent escapes into a space painted mostly with passionate intentions. I am not sure about my words, about any potential thread of conversation, about the safe raising of my re-focused view to conclude either your presence or absence from the scene.

What I hope for is for an ideal silence that can heal the past but also can act as a contingency plan for my unpredictability. And yet, this cold price, paid for not hearing you loving me or, ideally, re-assembling me from the fallen pieces, seems to be the most accurate currency, governing all my non-reactions.

And when your price makes it into currency and you are selling yourself against your remaining time in this world, all seems indeed lost and without the prospect of recovery.

However all the other time, invested into loving your non-communication, your ideal projections of silence and maybe that sweet recurrent disassembly of the frozen puzzle, could be potentially reclaimed and used to solve yourself and to bribe the future into becoming much more suitable for your later expectations.

I finally smile, coming to the conclusion that is I who quietly found my displaced therapy, lost somehow from it’s purpose and functional value. Somehow parked in a similar position as myself. And if by chance it’s composed of dynamic elements (a sweet guiding voice, a scent or a projection of a happier version of you) then this inner join could be nothing but reassuring into a total new re-positioning.