Unreceived Letter: Do You Know Poseidon?

"Like scattered jigsaw puzzles I try to arrange my life every day, the signboard tells me that there is only one way to arrange, but I'm sure there are many ways, the shapes are fading around me, why don't you give me the freedom to rearrange my life as I want, the back roads of my mind are unreachable, and my nose I hate shines the light is over its edge, the night is too short to catch its stars from my window every time I start counting, believe me, it goes beyond sadness, the reasons that make me lose control of myself and laugh are gone, do you understand me?

The slender girl, who was dressed in the sea as a cloak, now content herself with watching the lights of the ships at night; to imagine tales about captains and immigrants whose fear did not prevent them from taking pictures with smiles lit by the evening stars that reach them on the inflatable boats and do not reach my window, what does a window mean to you, and do you care if I mean a window, a balcony, or a terrace?

It is definitely not a balcony, the space is the space from the neighboring land it now disappeared and was replaced by an eleven-story building, with each floor I could see grains of cement stuck in the dust of the sun, in my clothes hanging on clotheslines, and on my shaggy white hairs scattered on the front of my head.

I never cared about them before but thirty-four years old force me to pay attention to the white hairs - though they are few - their indications confuse me, what if the cement particles stick to them so that I can turn into Medusa without even having sex with Poseidon? Do you know Poseidon? I do not think so.

Maybe I will tell you his story in an upcoming letter, I will go now to try to smile in front of the mirror."