Whether it’s a tourniquet or a poultice,
small talk plays its part only if both parties believe
in the magic of innocuous prattle,
even if sometimes you have to destroy
evidence to the contrary—
no wonder an old heathen remains silent.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I bought this fancy camera once, only to lose interest in photography.
Some other time, I spent hours rehearsing small talk and still chose solitude
like every other hermit among the city dwellers. And since I’m bookish,
I knew marginalia were my bread and butter, but one way or another
I had to face the question: Do I lose interest in everyday life?
Then again, like a faceless man in a bowler hat, every now and then I think
that I’ve actually caught a glimpse of something—I just don’t know
what exactly it is yet—but it always turns out to be nothing
but my imagination.
I hope you do not mind becoming a muse, as nothing more than an occasional verse
will ever come out of that. No expectations, no strings attached; your pure existence
three thousand miles or so away is all it takes. And even if, by sheer chance, we meet
somewhere, we can always avail ourselves of some small talk. I hope you do not mind
becoming just one more moment of reflection.
hidden pilcrow 