I

I have no water, I have wine, and I know we will all die.

I place my foot on the ground, deliberately rolling it in front of the other. I do this again, and I do it many more times. The pack is weighing my other shoulder down. I look forward, but I'm not sure if I can see anything. It doesn't matter if we travel in darkness or in light, because darkness will obscure and light will blind.

In a moment of bewilderment I stretch my arms and feel for a hem, an arm. I look for another human being to keep me company. I am here to be found as well. We hope for song and dance, clapping of hands. You do what you can.

I know out there there are those who believe in a promised land. I have met some of them, but there is not much to talk about. So I take out the wine and share.

My gear is dusty. My mind is rusted. So is this all there is? I keep going on and hope to bump into something.

II

There was darkness, and there was land. The country was desolate with nary a plant, the wiry creatures shy. There was no border, no crossing, not one prickly pear to mark our entrance. That is how we stumbled into the land of judgement. Keep your whimper. Silence your thirst. With nothing in sight the righteous resorted to judging each other, so one part was punished and the other part fled.

Forgive us.

We grow weary for we know of love, that never came. We knew better than to wait for it. We have so much hope we should sell it in parcels.

Here is our campsite tonight and tomorrow we'll go on. Pass the dry bread, pour the sour wine.

Every couple of years they introduce a shaver with one more blade. I will go on using my old blade buying more spare heads for it as they wear.
Meanwhile some of my friends will have bought the new one, with one extra blade. They are extremely content. Their legs look better than mine. They have less rash and dryness.
I will start wondering. Then I will just buy the new razor. Although I have been thinking all along that they should just research right now exactly how many blades it is possible to fit into one shaver. But of course they would loose a lot of revenue along the years. It is just so frustrating, knowing exactly what is going to happen next.

How to love yourself.
Be adored when infant, have soft hands change you. Grow up in fresh air. Touch another person with warm and dry hands. Be silent. Talk. Let your skin wrinkle. Have no fear. Have no fear. You are a good person, and you will be loved.

How do I know they are hungry? But I don't. Their hairy necks curve away in denial, they will not show their faces. Not for me. An outsider I try to find meaning in coarse fabric and messy hair. Not caring flows in both directions. Her I can see. She looks worried. Her eyes are alert and averted from me. What is that thing that makes us see and realize: alive?
I don't know the distance between us exactly. There is time, in any case a lot of time. Decades, when only moments would be enough to separate us for ever - the way they separate you and me, me and you. The universe will not fold for us. Maybe it will, who knows. This is not the hope that keeps me afloat.
There is a length of journey as well, from one continent to another. The distance of half my foot, shorter than you would think. I come and go, and when I see you, or her, I think of aliveness. The look in the eyes, the breath, the bets we place on past and future.
I know you, still I know you as little as I know her, the stranger. To cover the distance between us is as impossible as it is to travel through time. Still I am inching through the time. I am slowly covering the distance. I am alive until I am no more, for this I have hunger.