I look at you, I see me
You: That is the tenth time this hour you’ve scratched a sentence out.
You’re pushing the nib in too deep. The paper is going to tear. Can’t you see the ink
flowing out of the words? What are you searching for? Who are you seeking?
Me: You’re behaving like you don’t know.
You’re looking down at me trying to capture you, aren’t you? To name you, to make you tangible in some sense? I have tried other things to get to you. You know that. Maybe the nib was too sharp to come out of. Something softer, more subtle would work to get a hold of you, I thought. Maybe you’d decide to drip onto my white canvas through the fine hair of a paintbrush dipped in water. No, that would be too slow. You’re too fast for me. A camera could work better then, I imagined. I used a film roll- looked at your imprints in a dark room to understand who you really are. But you’re too clever for me, I think. Or I’m ignoring something about you. How do you affect me in so many ways?
Why does so much of who I am have to do with who you are?
You: Started with your riddles again, haven’t you?
You like confusion. You complain about it but you find comfort in your loops, your circles of the same thoughts, the same ideas you’ve been battling with ever since you understood you wanted to apply yourself in art.
Me: And you find comfort in your questions. Perhaps questions could be your answer. I should try defining you through questions.
You: Why not? Solve a riddle with another riddle!
This is a part of another narrative I am writing- a dialogue between selves. Any ideas for extension?
Anything at this point would help!