I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. (Virginia Woolf) We become ourselves through others, and the self is a porous thing, not a sealed container (Siri Hustvedt) En vez de mirarme en mi espejo quiero que mi espejo se mire en mí (Alejandra Pizarnik)
What is love? We live it intimately but ignore what it is. It resembles space and time, and like these two concepts, it is clear, functional, and practically non-existent, and do I love you because of this proximity, this obsessive involvement? You filled my space for so long, snaked yourself in my waters, and I’m left with signs, and traces of you, exclusively, look, the sea is leaving, she’s already beyond the horizon.
There, Etel Adnan