This is not clear, this is a kind of trance. The one I don't really know, don't recognize, don't understand— even they seem to know me, recognize me, understand me. Even when I don't call, they call to me.
I notice they want to say something; but what they want to say, I don't know; I sense they don't know either. It's not that I know nothing at all; I know a little here and there—this little I know isn't enough to make them speak.
My head is drowsing, but hasn't fully drowsed. I am neither in rhythm now, nor out of rhythm. I am not close to myself, I am close to the distant.
I don't give myself away, yet I have no desire not to give myself away. The one I turn away, I don't want to turn away at all. I want them, yet I cannot want them. Who are they? I don't know. But I know they exist.
Sometimes they tell me to come to them, I hear. But why don't I run there? Because I can't hear clearly!
If I wanted, I could go far away, where no one could find me anymore. Why don't I go? Who is holding me back? Do I want to come, then? But I can't do that either—they hold me back! Do I really want to come? It doesn't seem so!
Do I want to go, then? Yes, I want to, I surely want to. I want to go, I want to give myself away too.
Will you call once more? How can I go if you don't call? Can I go...even without being called?
If you called me more clearly, perhaps my courage to respond would grow.