Text written in December 2018 inspired by the record "Yesterday is Here" by Hamar Trio.
Memory collapses.
The words are confused and merged in different languages. There is an impending confusion and the fear that words will fall by the wayside. She feels lost.
The sun is almost setting and she is puffy. Her bare feet touch the snow outside her house overlooking the lake. She decides to leave. She decides to run and try to catch the time that insists on wanting to gallop.
Tiptoe in a forest at dusk, the shadow of a slender body travels at a frantic pace on the paths trodden through the wind-curved bushes. She lay down and let herself fall asleep between the moonlight and the sweat that was running down her chest.
She woke up and returned home. The journey to the ends of the memory was long and the forecast was hard and difficult to accept. The self would be forgotten little by little and he, in whatever language, would one day be erased from her memory.
She was going to stop knowing how important he was to her. And he, in a failed attempt, tried to stay alive in that woman's fragile and confused mind.
In the bedroom, the pendulum continued to dance from side to side, but the response was slow to appear.
The time! Time was the real problem...
He turned on the metronome at a very slow pace, speechless, not knowing what to say, in the hope that time would pass more slowly. She smiled as she ran the fingers over the round skirt of her red dress. It was that moment, when the metronome echoed through the white room, that stopped them in time. Recall the trips around Europe while he tuned the double bass.
She would forget about him.
The truth was hard but the balance was present at the moment when the strings of the double bass resonated without language and without memory. The sound that united them forever was universal.
Tears were streaming down his face. He felt lost and distressed.
While she smiled innocently with a lost look, he continued to resound the strings at the metronome's taste in the hope that she would never forget the contour of his face and his name.
- Yesterday is here - she whispered through her teeth as she heard the bow creak the strings of the double bass.