Ink & Echoes

It was the “...teenth” day of searching.

The airport.

From the cave of my soul, I gaze out at the light of others — and I marvel at their ability to create that radiant aura which enchants the world around them. I am captivated by the warmth that flows from them, the warmth that gently embraces everyone near. I am spellbound by their power — the power that enslaves their followers and weaves a kind of magic that feels almost like addiction. From the depths of my being, I watch their transformations and their contagious charisma.

“Wait for me, my dearest!” — I no longer say it, I shout it.

Tonight, my world shattered.

Drowned in the noise of everyday life, deaf to my own thoughts, sinking into the swamp of worries, tossed around by the flood of information — trying to separate what’s truly close to my heart from what only appears to be — I cherish the brief seconds of respite buried beneath the avalanche of work. Wandering through pages of books in those careless pauses, I slowly make my way through the overgrown bog toward the evening, where the sun so gracefully sinks into the ocean’s depths. It feels as though I am following it — yet in truth, I am merely tracing the silent echo of its rays with tired eyes. That path of light — neither too bright nor too dim — is just right. It doesn’t hurt my weary eyes, half-closed in fatigue, yearning for rest.

“Shoot into my soul. Aim straight for the target. Right here,” I point to my chest. “Please, don’t wound me. Be precise. I don’t want to suffer. I want to step firmly into that place where the earth will be painted red with my blood. I want to feel what life is like there — beyond the dullness of everyday existence.”

My imagination paints an image again. This time, it sketches a valley — a quiet slope draped in fir trees, and at its foot, a lonely cabin. I step toward it, across a moss-carpeted path that feels like a doorway from another dimension, and in that instant, I feel peace — a stillness so pure, so complete, that it almost aches. A peace I miss in the noise of everyday life. A peace where no other world exists — only me, and this valley born of my imagination.

Talk to me! Even if your words could bring the world to its knees. Even if the sun burned out and turned into a charred sphere in a greying sky.

The trees had painted the park’s carpet in every shade imaginable. Rain and wind began to wash it clean; the first frost bit into their beauty. The leaves slowly started losing their charm, their stories fading as autumn’s magic grew quiet. The evenings stretched longer and longer, and here and there someone lit the first candles of the season. And then—I see you. Walking home. Your beloved little dog trotting beside you on the leash. You take the same path as always. Your shoulders slightly bowed. You seem to hurry, yet your steps are slow. You’re coming home. I’m waiting for you.

"Wink at me, wave your hand, call me to you—and I will always answer."

That night was darker than any before it. Dark and silent. Only the faint moaning of the sea could be heard, as its waves broke softly against the shore. Somewhere, the wind played—but even it seemed bored by the quiet, dark coastline and the slumbering town in the distance. Its dim lights tried to stretch toward the beach, to comfort the sighing sea, to beckon the wind into play. But the invitation went unanswered. The wind was unmoved by silk curtains billowing in open windows, or by the scent of blossoms drifting from windowsills. It wandered instead through the narrow streets of the shadowed town, half-lost, half-dancing, roaming with no purpose—like one of those aimless summer nights when the air is too still to care. It drifted, searching for nothing, wanting nothing. Perhaps that is why the sea moaned softly in the dark—because no one had given her the chance to rage. To the wind, she was no companion tonight.