Sleep...
(The solid form of
not being…)
The telephone was
ringing.
He stood up and
walked to the window.
(It was noon. The
sun which had completed its rising was watching the city angrly in
the steppe from its throne in the sky.)
He looked at the
half-gone day; at the half-gone city and its half-gone people from
behind the curtain.
He turned away from
the curtain. And looked to his house, to his bed, his life, and his
love which were made for a couple...
He looked.
The telephone was
still ringing.
He went to the
kitchen and looked into the fridge. He felt as if he wanted
everything in it. And as if...
He wanted none.
He lit a cigarette.
The sadness of being deceived filled his lungs. He lit another
cigarette.
He lit all the
cigarettes in the packet.
And the packet too!
He was going to have
a bath. It seemed as if he would get rid of all the dirt, despair,
and deception because of his inexperience in his life.
He was going to have
a bath...
(but near the door,
on the floor on the way to the bathroom)
He saw an envelope…
He saw the envelope…
He was yearning.
He opened it and
began reading:
“I LOVE YOU, BUT NOT
NOW!
Don't we dream of
our nightmares on golden trays?
We live on the edge
of life. We are not able to stand against it. But sorrows, hatreds,
and pains can’t be postponed.
(Like love, as much
as love…)
Finish all your
unfinished love stories. Love is not what it should be, it is what
it can be.
Take your loneliness
and come. Come without disturbing my loneliness.
I LOVE YOU NOW!"
He did not have a
bath.
He woke up.
The telephone kept
on ringing.
He pulled the cable
of the telephone out. The sound that reverberated against the walls
of the room was left unfinished.
The telephone was
still ringing.
He burned the
telephone book. All the lives on the other side of the cable were
left unfinished.
He was about the
leave the house. He laid down his copy of the photos on the buffet;
laid down the key which he took from his pocket.
The telephone was
silent...
