Da Vinci's Study for the Head of Leda--for many months she was my goddess!
It happened twice in the subway this morning, and once somewhere yesterday afternoon: a stranger looked like someone I’ve loved, only for a moment and always from an odd angle, usually from behind. For that moment emotion and memory woke from their blindness and numbness and directed all their energy on this coat and this spilling hair—a feeling filled my chest, one which used to make my hands shake. The months and miles vanished and I was returned to where I belong, the air was packed with the ferocity of the past, as though somehow swarming with cheetahs, but the stranger had no idea of my existence, and when the moment passed I remembered where I was, and that what I wanted could not possibly be.
So I go back to sleep—an anonymous vandal once wrote in Pompeii that “Lovers are like bees in that they live a honeyed life”, and what’s a bee without honey?—to this long hibernation. Less than seven months and one week remain, and rather than a woman my heart beats slowly and drowsily for that point in time when nothing remains. I wake from this sleep only to raise my fist to the air and say aloud, Busan!—the stagnant state of mind, the cement of thought and soul, not necessarily the city—I will escape you!