In my room with the colorless moonlight of summer. If I were to step outside, what would I hear? What would I see?
No one is there. The world is my park. A part of me wishes to meet someone, a chance meeting. And yet, if such a thing did occur, I wouldn’t know how to react. Perhaps the one I meet is here for the same reason I am here. If I were to meet myself, what would we do? Quietly, without surprise, begin conversation? I ask myself questions I wish I could answer on my own – is talking to a mirror better than reflection? No, I am one, and I have been talking to the air.
I am in the colorless room again. Truth lies to my right, and all other directions are hazy. I choose to dive down into the pool of moonlight. The bottom of the pool is white stone, and I sit there for a while. Sound is muted; I gradually forget breathing, and yet I still remain as though it does not matter. I surface, and the pool is now the floor – no, the floor is the pool, and the pool is no longer the light of the lone moon but the sunlight through a continuous layer of the clouds. In a normal place, such lighting would embed some kind of fog in the space behind my eyes, but the pool’s surface is lustrous, and the lack of orange and bright blue is comforting. The sight of dark, glassy water extending into the distance creates a sense of continuousness.
I step onto the sidewalk out of the river; I am completely dry, aside from a cool feeling in the air. Something tells me there should be some kind of transportation on the river. I feel its presence, though it is nowhere in sight. Where do I go? I cannot recall having anywhere to go. I have been in this setting before. At some point, I do not remember when,