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Can you please find me?
I lost myself
I don’t know when it happened
Nobody told me
I may have been gone for a long time
What was I wearing?
I don’t remember
Was I awake, asleep?
No memory
Where was I when I got lost?
I must have been alone
I am not sure what I look like
The image is now blurry
Can you find me?
I used to laugh
Can you hear me?
My feet walked and walked
Maybe there are traces still?
I had dreams
Maybe yours were the same?
I had love in my heart
Perhaps you can hear it beating somewhere?
Please listen
I lost myself
I don’t know how
Maybe I ran away?
If you see me, let me know
I will recognize your voice
I do remember that I love you.

For David

Andrew Wyeth - Wind from the Sea, 1947

Art: Andrew Wyeth





Depression is like erosion. The changes are slow, imperceptible at first. And then mountains begin to fall. Great cliffs crumble exposing the devastation, the charred inside of a tormented mind; gaping black holes and jagged edges as sharp as blades. Soft entrails calcified into rock. Depression is like erosion. It leaves nothing behind, only deep trails of tears, like empty riverbeds. And you have lost the map leading to fresh water. All you can do is sit by the dry gully and listen to the Lari cry.



I heard a woman crying in the middle of the night. Her rhythmic sobs broke the silence, undulating like waves of time… I stopped breathing and listened. She kept on crying, softly, steadily, endlessly… her pain like a shadow on my soul. Like a reply. Like an echo. I lay in my bed and listened as she cried somewhere in the darkness, beyond my sight and touch. Close by, close enough to feel, her tears cascading from my ceiling. Minutes ticked by, the night breathed in and out, and I still heard her cry. On and on, as the night slipped away and the morn hovered behind my eyelids. And then the darkness ebbed, dissipated, and I opened my eyes to a murky light of dawn, lifting my head from a pillow saturated with tears…