TE16 Turkish Delight

Mario Levi your futuremisgivings. In front of that mirror, you’ll be taken over by the enchantment of a call that’s not at all unfamiliar to you. It’s at such a time that I’ll want to reach out to you, keeping to myself my part of our story without extending to you any resentment or shortcoming. With my dreams, words, and myriad possibilities I’ll lure you back behind the mirror, I’ll tell you that to merely reach out your hand, take a tiny step, will suffice for you to find me. You’ll look at yourself once more, at your long red hair, blue eyes, and full lips, and say, “Words, words, words.” Knowing your reflection in the mirror to be equal to my call will in you, perhaps, become the expression of regret or an unanticipated solitude. You’ll raise your finger to your lips, wish to say something to yourself as you think of my presence in the room. Then, exactly at that moment, you’ll be thoroughly gripped by a new trepidation as you realize that this game had been played before, at an utterly different time and in a completely different story. You’ll ask then if you can live to the fullest this prohibited zone, or this shared isolation, as you try to grasp the point in the story at which you were forced to enter this body of text. “As it turns out, it was all wrong from the beginning,” you’ll perhaps say, “I was never in that house or that relationship, haven’t traversed those sentences and phrases for so long, and he only produced me from his imagination.” Producing a lover in one’s imagination, luring her out of it . . . yet I had always been right there in front of you, I was with you along with your silence and all your evasions during your brief journey in the mirror. My remorse in the mirror was in part my own defeat, your evasion my appeal, your indifference my call. Producing a lover in one’s imagination, loving her thus,

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