Alicia: I don’t want to arrive anywhere.
The path is an invention of clocks.
I prefer the instant when the ground bends and returns me to the same point.
Dorotia: And I don’t want to leave.
The wind pushes, but doesn’t know the name of destiny.
I want to find the place that exists before the road.
Alicia: Then we are sisters of disobedience.
You seek the end, I the beginning, and both refuse to exist.
Dorotia: Don’t talk to me about beginnings.
The beginning is an order in disguise.
I prefer the middle, where nobody commands and everything repeats itself.
Alicia: The middle is a trap.
It’s the tea that never gets cold, the rabbit that never arrives.
I want the mistake, the stumble, the hole that promises no way out.
Dorotia:
And I want the house that can’t be found,
the window that opens onto the same field,
but with a different sky color.
Alicia:
Perhaps we are the same dream,
divided by a cracked mirror.
You want the reflection, I want the crack.
Dorotia:
And neither of us wants to be led.
Not by compass, nor by king, nor by fairy.
The path is an animal that feeds on will.
I let it die.
Alicia:
I let it laugh.
Laughter is the only map that doesn’t lie.
Dorotia:
Then we go on,
you inward, I outward,
until the world gets tired of looking for us.
