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Glint





Here comes the silence once again, doubtless an anticipatory one, as if setting the stage for the first though few important words that will be said and must be heard. Everything depends on the beginning, and at the beginning silence reigns--necessarily.


*


I had hoped for this day to come.


But as with all things that matter, what you hope for also paralyzes you with anxiety. Anxiety is not only anxious of what gives us worry--this examination, that uncertainty--but also of what excites us--this blind date or that party. That nameless "mixed" emotion, so honestly phrased, is what gives us anxiety: you do not know what to feel but you surely feel something, you do not know which side to take so you move to and fro without rest because without place.


Hence this walking around, dilly-dallying, and nervous chatter because I do not know what to say right now.


*

Summer.


Camus loved all his summers, when everything is possible and nothing is forbidden. No other better time to take a vow or a man's life than at a noon in summer.


Meursault shot a man on a beach when a sun ray glinted on the Arab's knife, blinding him for a moment. That was his sole defense. How come no one believed him?



*

Come with me this summer, it's going to be unbelievably interesting.




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