Bonjour, Je m’appelle Marie.

She likes French, you know? She’s being studying it since she was 6. Sometimes she likes to whisper things to my ear. Of course, I can’t understand her at all. Everything I’ve ever learned was that particular phrase she likes so much.

Marie likes to talk a lot alone. She likes to experiment as well. Some say she’s a genius. She makes up new colors and smells in her mind. Some say she’s not from around here. She’s somehow addicted to her piano. Some say she’s not even real.

Marie, elle aime les étoiles. She says that a lot. It means, “Marie, she loves the stars”. And she sure does, just take a look at the ceiling, there are thousands. She painted them. Some she made with crayons, those over there by computer. She printed them of course, sideways there’s still some tape. I miss Marie.

Sometimes we gaze together into the stars. It’s dangerous though, we could get flooded. You see, when Marie starts to play her piano and sing the most extraordinary happens. At times she can call forward Nereid’s waves. Then we float, but the rhythm is so fast and hard to track that Marie cries sometimes and the peaceful ocean hails into storms. One night we almost died before coming back.

We have a butterfly. Her name is Rose, but Marie likes to call her Pupa. She’s named after that because she came along on a rose I gave to Marie last fall. Rose likes to talk with our cat, which also has a name, but Marie never tells me what it is. I even ignore the cat’s gender, but that doesn’t matter. It’s good to have company when Marie leaves the room.

If only I could walk through the door. It cannot actually be that hard to do, after all I’ve seen her dwell in and out several times. Sometimes I really hate waiting inside, but I simply don’t dare to break through, not the way she does. I wonder some times, What make us so different? C’est le Français, mon chéri… Voilà ; il pleut.

Marie sings all day long. She casts over the spirits. Last night she brought a headless hurricane woman who was passing by her music. After she finished her song blending with the tempest she really shocked me. Her pupils got really big and she got suddenly stiff. I cannot feel anything, she said. Marie fell to the ground. I fell to the waves.

Round and round and round; Marie trembles again and again. She smiles, cries, shouts, laughs. Her pupils still so wide, “Je ne peux rien… savoir, sentir, pleurer, aimer..." Most of time she seems bound to the floor, tied by hands. She plays, dances, writes; she does everything she ever has. The tune keeps running on, the time keeps running out. Marie fears for the first time. She cannot breathe, I cannot think, she cannot exist, I cannot feel, we cannot see but the abyss is already here.

Marie binds herself tight. She keeps changing her mind, she keeps changing her sight. Marie pains inside and just wishes to hide. She’s hitting so fast, she’s fighting so far.

Marie tries to close her eyes and unleashes all kinds of might into the room, all the spirits, the music, the notes, the feelings, the colors, the smells, the stars, the butterfly and cat, the wings, the door... Marie unleashes her past.

Marie lies to the ground. She wears a smile. I see the door closed and wished I could at least try. I see the door, I get so close, it gets so large. Marie stays quiet, pretty quiet. Her lips smile, such an open smile. I embrace Marie, Marie embraces the vast; Marie has no mind. Her body so quiet, her mind so loose, her smile so large, her face so tender, her eyes... open wide.

Her eyes open wide...

her eYes open Wide...

heR eyes open wIde...

her Eyes oPen...

wide...

wild...


why?...



Yereth
19/08/07