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To a Friend

Everybody should have a friend. At least one. Someone for themselves. With whom one can be silent and hunt
snowflakes. With whom one becomes and ends. Who can be found within oneself and in whom one is found. Someone
who makes the sun shine brighter and in whose eye universes circulate. Someone who lasts longer than a drop of rain
on the nose, whose touch is like dance of Gods, tenderness like cotton, breath like waves.
Yesterday I met such a friend. He was mine as much as his own. He had the cover of longing and hands dipped into
painting colors. He smelled like southern winds and smiled like a child. He was alone, as much as I was alone. And we
were alone together. He woven into me, and I overwhelmed. By blueness. By depth. Deep. Blue. Night. And then he
carried me from my dream into a vision: I saw them clearly. These small boats, canoes on the surface of his depth. Poets,
painters, writers, sculptors, dancers, singers, as they dip their brushes, quills, voices and movements into this abundance
and reshape it into their work. Separated by boats, and connected by living water. And I saw myself among them;
playful, timeless, protected, playing with incidences and forms. I create a doll from his very essence. From salt. Doll of
salt! It is my gift to him, to my biggest Friend. My favorite toy, with silent mouth that talks through silence. A rag doll.
Inside her chest beats heart of soul.


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