Одинокая тень появилась здесь, в центре пустой комнаты. Там, где нет времени, где из окна льется мертвенно-белый свет... Там, за тонкой, хрупкой мембраной стекла колышутся ветви одиноких деревьев, облака тихо плывут по серому небу. Живой мир, в котором нечего искать... В пустоте появляются очертания предметов, они становятся четкими, как память о минувших жизнях. Память кровоточащая, болезненная, жестокая. Память... Комнату наполняет удушающий запах застоялой воды. Запах, что мешается с белесой пеленой света и прахом пожелтевших страниц. На них слова, лабиринты из слов и образов. Лабиринты, для тщетных поисков причины утрат. Пустота... Пустота наполненная страхом... Забытые слова на тонкой грани сознания, тихие как шёпот теней: "Комната утопленников. Граница перерождения. Точка обретения Смерти." Шаги легки, невесомы. Волосы бесшумно касаются воды. Погрузиться легко, как сделать первый вдох, как бросить лишенный эмоций взгляд на тающие в белом сиянии деревья, как закрыть глаза... Но свет не отпустит того, кто пришел с пустыми руками. У всего есть своя цена. Волосы хранят память о минувших днях, о пути пройденном когда они крепли. Волосы хранят силы идти дальше, силы жить. Взять в руки ножницы, ощутить боль утраты, утраты себя, и отрезать каждый локон, как связующую с жизнью нить. Тьма повсюду... "Она придет, она никогда тебя не оставит. Но теперь тебе открыта новая дорога. Вода заберет прежние жизни, страхи и боль. Свершилось. Сделай вдох... "
In the center of the empty room a lonely shadow appeared. Where there is no time, where the window pours dead white light... There, behind the thin, fragile membrane of glass, the branches of lonely trees waver, and clouds float quietly across the gray sky. A living world with nothing to look for... In the void, the outlines of objects appear, they become clear, like the memory of past lives. Memory is bloody, painful, cruel. Memory... The room is filled with a suffocating smell of stagnant water. A smell that mingles with the whitish shroud of light and the dust of yellowed pages. On that pages the words, mazes of words and images. Labyrinths, for vain searches of the reason of losses. Emptiness... A void filled with fear... Forgotten words on the thin edge of consciousness, quiet as the whisper of shadows: "The room of drowned. The border of rebirth. The point of finding Death." Her steps are light, weightless. The hair touches the water noiselessly. It is easy to immerse in water, like taking the first breath, like glance without emotion at the trees that are melting in the white light, like closing your eyes... But the light won't let go of someone who came empty-handed. Everything has a price. Hair keeps the memory of days gone by, of the way passed when they grew stronger. Hair keeps the strength to go on, the strength to live. She take the scissors in her hands, feel the pain of loss, loss of herself, and cut off every curl, as a connecting thread with life. Darkness is everywhere... "She will come, she will never leave you. But a new road is open now. The water will take away the old lives, fears and pain. Come true. Take a breath... "
In the center of the empty room a lonely shadow appeared. Where there is no time, where the window pours dead white light... There, behind the thin, fragile membrane of glass, the branches of lonely trees waver, and clouds float quietly across the gray sky. A living world with nothing to look for... In the void, the outlines of objects appear, they become clear, like the memory of past lives. Memory is bloody, painful, cruel. Memory... The room is filled with a suffocating smell of stagnant water. A smell that mingles with the whitish shroud of light and the dust of yellowed pages. On that pages the words, mazes of words and images. Labyrinths, for vain searches of the reason of losses. Emptiness... A void filled with fear... Forgotten words on the thin edge of consciousness, quiet as the whisper of shadows: "The room of drowned. The border of rebirth. The point of finding Death." Her steps are light, weightless. The hair touches the water noiselessly. It is easy to immerse in water, like taking the first breath, like glance without emotion at the trees that are melting in the white light, like closing your eyes... But the light won't let go of someone who came empty-handed. Everything has a price. Hair keeps the memory of days gone by, of the way passed when they grew stronger. Hair keeps the strength to go on, the strength to live. She take the scissors in her hands, feel the pain of loss, loss of herself, and cut off every curl, as a connecting thread with life. Darkness is everywhere... "She will come, she will never leave you. But a new road is open now. The water will take away the old lives, fears and pain. Come true. Take a breath... "
Lik Soran
The Room of Drowned.
December 2019.
Model: Koi.
Natalie Ina Photography.
