Porz Goret

 There’s the quietness in which I find myself, and the quietness from whose claws I’m trying to escape. There is the noise and the silence of today, so mixed together, so undistinguished, like the days, the weeks, the months of the moment … March became and remained in April, in October, in December, days prolonged into one, long waiting… for a long walk in nature in sunny days, for daring to dream in something, to hope for a change, for meeting and hugging people I care for. And in this clockless time, where everything seems to have stopped, even words seem hard to be found, hiding in some corners of our souls, of our minds, hiding in the fears that we don’t have the courage to utter, and we push them deep into us, hoping somehow they will get lost in our guts, in our blood, in our heartbeats. But they are there, like haunting shadows from our past. In glimpses of another day, we remember we haven’t breathed for a long while, too busy to run away from us, to protect the others, to keep our calm and reason on this long, prolonged day, that seems to never end, filled with people who are so ignorant with their keens, with themselves, with this planet, with their country. And when we do, when we remember how to breathe by forgetting just for a moment about everything else, it’s like that old image from our past, tearing down all the windows and the walls for an evanescent moment of breathing.