henricusmaria / works


Borrowed Nostalgia


I see her passing in front of me, walking back and forth in a place that is very near and infinitely separated from me, as if it were behind a mirror.
I am stuck by an insane idea. No doubt I can talk to her, but I don't want to and actually maybe I am not able to.
She remains in my presence with the freedom of a thought; she is in this world, but I am encountering her again in this world only because she is my thought.


How awkward.