I sit in agony by the river in a garden where the plants have grown wild. The gardener died many years back and I am left to take care of his work. I don't know how to care for plants, I only know how to see beauty in violet tufts and green leaves.
But this afternoon I sit in agony. The sun is black, the clouds have disappeared. The birds do not sing their song. I have my notebook with me but I have no poems to write. The river tells me nothing but gives a violent stare. I sense failure. I sense timidity. I sense that the flowers don't like me.
Last week, I invited a friend to come with me. I wanted her to see my world, the colors of my existence. She smiled at me, the menacing smile of a trickster then walked away. Like a saint I accepted her word and went alone.
When I'm in the garden I hallucinate lovers. I hallucinate songs and poetry. There is no time when the hallucinations fail to fill me up even now when I am in agony.
Right now I hallucinate a woman in red by my side. She kisses me, I kiss her feet, we play with the statues as the sun goes down. She is wide eyed, has black hair and thin lips. She calls me my favourite names. But she causes me agony. She is made up of memories, of fallen fruit, of black snow. But I made a commitment so I play and play and play.
As the sun disappears and the river roars, I see that it is time to leave. What's left of my hallucinations is a laceration. What's left of my mind are fallen fruits.