Artistic Creations

I am staring through the window. Ever since I'm alone, which is since my wife died twelve years ago, I don't do any different. The window is my only means to keep contact with the outside world.

I see a mother with a little girl pass by. I forgot the little girl's name. And the date when she was born. That mother used to wave hello to me when she walked by. But that was years ago. She was the only one who smiled and waved at me. Now, no-one does that anymore.

I do have two children and five grandchildren, but I do not notice anything of that. My son, who I think is called Hans, but I'm not sure anymore, moved to the north. He never visits me anymore. My daughter, who's called Mireille, doesn't come that frequently anymore either. I think I would recognise her if I see her. I don't think I'd still recognise him.

Sometimes, there are people I don't know who enter the house. They make my house decent and clean. But I don't understand for who they're doing that. No-one comes here anymore.

Every day, I see a girl on a bike drive by. She passes by so often that I have stopped noticing her. That goes with everything. Everything happens so often that I have stopped noticing it. Slowly I feel I am stopping to perceive anything that happens around me. Whatever.

I see dancers every day now. They are there day and night. According to my son-in-law, I am suffering from hallucination, my daughter says it's cataract.

Slowly, I sense I am losing my contact with the present. The routine becomes ever more solid, my perception ever more vague. All I can cling on to, all I have left, are my memories. The memory of my young me, with my parents, when we were with thirteen. The memory of Maria. The memory of our marriage. Our two children. I don't know their names anymore.

Sometimes, a woman drops by whom I vaguely recognise. She reminds me of my wife...I don't know her name anymore... Sometimes, she is bringing someone. A boy, or a girl. Occasionally I recognise their faces, but that's all I can say. They take me outside. I don't recognise "outside". But outside, they have good coffee and beautiful music.
I feel the missing.
They don't understand me.
They take me inside.
But I have never been there before.
They leave me between two persons I don't know. And they say that it is my home...
I feel reality slowly decomposing into shattered and splintered fragments of not relating memories that cease to be my life...
They said that they'd return. But I don't know who they are...

...an angel is beside my bed...
...tells me her name...
...she says something...
...I don't know who she is...
...I've never seen her before...
...they are coming to get me...I feel it...
...a seraph beside my bed...
...talking words...
...I close my eyes...
...I am in Heaven...
...I am in pain...
...God...
...angel...
...pain...
...tired...
...memory...
...old...
...Heaven...
...God...
...nothing...
...rest...
...emptiness...
...darkness...
...eternity...
...nothing...