I want to lose myself in these crowded streets, in the mix of strangers, unrecognized to others and to myself. I want to efface my self in this new, exotic place, until no one knows my name, and if I hear it I wonder at the strangeness of its sound.
I want to leave behind everything that makes me ‘me’ and become something else.
The manner of my speech, the shape of my smile, the slant of my writing… every ingrained habit and every natural trait… everything that forges my being. Indestructible prejudices, ignorance, envy, cowardice, foolishness, laziness, tiredness… wasted moments, unspoken truths, a sharp tongue and a sharper heart. Missed prayers, judgements about others, hypocricies hidden deep. Wounds, black and bloody, that have never healed. Sorrows, regrets, and grief. Unfulfilled dreams and broken hopes. Trivial facts and countless images before my minds eye. The life I was born into, and the life that was born into me.
I want to wrap all these things up in a plain white sheet and go deep into the desert, away from the travelled roads, somewhere between Damascus and Tidmor, until I find some desolate, lonely spot. There, I want to bury it beneath the brittle, dry soil, six feet under, layering handful after handful of sand on top, until the ground evens out and the desert becomes a single solid entity once again. And I want to walk away, and never remember where it’s buried.
I want to drink from the cup of death, but only a small sip – only enough to taste its sweetness. Only enough to become new again, with no past, no planned future, no restricted present. That’s all I want…
just blank pages, and a soul with which to write.