We Are Bad Enough to Deserve Each Other

We are here to talk face to face with this city, it is impossible, after all, to talk behind its back. We did not take photographs, since we knew that perception brings the ‘moment’ in its wake, and memory brings the ‘image’. We opt for the image. We pour our grief out to each other, silently, in melancholy, mumbling. We talk about its beauty, and we gift a sorrowful smile to its history. Chasms between people, the city and art are spanned with fleeting bridges we have built. It rains on us, on our hair, and our shoulders; and our silhouettes are reflected on pavements. We swiftly pass through doors, and at a different speed, we fail to pass through other doors. From rooftops, the sun smiles at us in dribs and drabs. We first gather evidence, and then tamper with that same evidence. When letters fall short, we use lines, when lines prove inadequate, we use the body. It is impossible to talk behind this city’s back, and here we talk about it with its citizens, in the city. Across the walls, on writing paper, on the creamy side of that dessert that is a bit like rice pudding, and across other surfaces. We speak under our breath, so your speaking under your breath is not left echoless.