I need a companion. I need the closeness of a kindred person. I long for some affirmation of the inner world whose existence I postulate. To persistently cling to it by my own faith alone, heave it despite everything with the strength of its resistance—it is the labor and torment of Atlas. Sometimes it seems to me that with this strained gesture of lifting I hold nothing on my shoulders. I would like the power for a moment to set this weight down upon someone’s arms, straighten up my neck and look at what I have been carrying.
I need a partner for undertakings of discovery. What for one person is a risk, an impossibility, a caprice stood on its head—when reflected in two pairs of eyes becomes a reality. The world waits as it were for this partnership: until now closed, confined, without further plans—to begin to mature with the colors of a dahlia, burst and open up inside. Painted panoramas deepen and open into actual perspectives, the wall lets us into a dimension formerly unattainable, frescoes painted on the horizon come to life like a pantomime.
"— Bruno Schulz, Cinnamon Shops (via letfreedomlulz)
(Source: slothnorentropy, via thankgodforatheists)
