A LITTLE ROOM FROZEN LIKE AN OYSTER

A cold retreat where the soul remains suspended. Where my profile remains stationary and does not go out of bounds. The dark space where I watch the air light up. Motionless in my inertia.
I am safe in the container of myself. The edges coincide perfectly – a little click and the lock clicks. That’s fine. I am in my retreat ever …
(Haruki Murakami)