27 Quotes by Nathan Walkowicz

The borders of existence began to melt away and I soon found that I could even will my vision unclear, and then bring it back into focus. It all had to do with some mechanism behind my eyes.

The Architect, growing tired, sat upon his unfinished work, looking down (or up) at the earth. What else could he do? He had many more ideas, but, by this time, they did not seem to add any true value. He scratched his chin. He watched his tools float about.

More and more, I began to see the characters of these silly tales walk out of the pages and amble into the busy streets. They sat in cafes, and checked their phones, and spoke in different languages, and held plastic signs, and argued in meetings, and waited for the light to turn, and stepped back onto the curb.

The moonbeams dripped across the man’s face.

I told her about my grandfather, about the little apartment we used to share over a nice-smelling bakery. It had one window, and you could sit there, on the cracked paint, studying people in the street. My grandfather would stroll down the sidewalk, tools in hand. He was a plumber. And there was always work to be done.

And now, whenever I return, I feel as if our echo is still there, forever caught in the branches of those sycamore trees, reminding me that I am loved, that I should love others, and that years move much too quickly.

It was a mindless game, but what else could I do? I was lost. I was alone. Terribly alone. And, in those brief moments of play, I could reshape all of existence. My tiny hands could scoop up the entire universe. Slowly, carefully, as though not to ruin the charm, I raised my hands, and watched the beads of light drip like golden ink from my delicate fingertips.

I suppose you are right. I never do plan anything out completely. Planning ruins the immediacy of wit. Don’t you think?

I limped through the forest. Through the inky blackness. A body, lost in nature. Nothing more. An animal. Broken at the core. A creature without a home.