from my unpublished collection
When a vine has nothing to hold onto, it climbs itself, it shoots a tendril out, and thickens it, and wraps itself around itself, round and round. Solitude is space and light. Loneliness is shadow. That sun can burn, the dark can bury you alive. The nasturtiums surround you like blood poured from a goblet, so that you may speak into the world once more: you drink, and talk and talk. It's not quite healthy, not quite right, to be so alone. You sketch and then you paint. You shade, you shadow.
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First published in Boulevard Magazine
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images and text © by Alpay Ulku
