Talking to myself (About the day that never was)

“I am trying to write about that day.”

“Which day?”

“That day I cannot remember anything about.”

“Then why is it important?”

“As much as forgetting is.”

“Do you remember to forget?”

“I make a note of it!”

“So, is that day marked somewhere?”

“In my subconscious.”

“Is the day connected with something?

“I cannot recall…isn’t it funny? I can only remember it as a day.”

“A day without anything happening?”

“A day that existed by itself, without embellishment of events and people, a day that stood for itself.”

“You are already writing about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it is about the day that never was more than a day.”

“In fact it was, because unlike other days that are crowded with noise and silence, this one was nothing.”

“Vacant?”

“No, full of itself. It was a day without crutches, a day that was independent.”

“Independence Day?”

“No. Not an event or a symbol, just a passing phase, a non-entity, a nothingness.”

“What do you want to remember it for?”

“A day that had arms long enough to reach the ether and part the sky’s curtain to make it night even as it died.”