(something written one day on the road, on the way somewhere far from home)
Sitting by the rear window of the car,
music in my eardrums,
icy air on my face,
blank mind,
bare eyes that observe.
I realize that next to me, a few centimeters away, a white dress is hanging from a hook.
It is adorned with sequins and covered in plastic.
A plastic so thin that it allows my eyes to discern its silhouette,
its texture,
its color,
the smell of the dust it keeps.
And suddenly,
out of nowhere.
No warning,
no battle,
without noticing my presence,
The dress dances.
Through the window,
comes and goes,
with the rhythm of the wind.
Without music,
without time.
Without rhythm,
without jealousy.
It moves to the rhythm of the road that dad drives.
No instructions
or explanations.
And then I think,
…what I would give to be the dress, friend of the wind.
Without character,
accomplice of the moment.
And that's it.
