On a sunny day

She sat down on a bench. A train passes by. Another one. There is an engine working. A voice whispering. Roaring. Her body is a statue. A framework without a picture inside. A shadow. Not even the glaze lost. Her knees are shaking, but you can just see it when getting closer. And you do not get closer. There is a wall. You look for the key and you find it.

She joins the train. She ties her stomach and closes her eyes. It seems that she´s not there, that the wind has taken away the salt. Sometimes you forget her existence. She forces you to make her body invisible. And immediately, she puts her forefinger in your arm. It´s warm energy. Delicate and decreasing. Fleeting.

She lets the train go. Her hands are shaking but she waves firmly. The station is empty. The engine is still working. The statue is still close. Too much.

She gets into bed. The engine is noise. A constant noise. The toes caress the coldness of the bedsheets. The hands are a fist; her body, a statue. She plays music in the background and leaves the noise on the pillow. She shakes it and drowns its wrinkles. She plays music in the background to stop the engine. She ties her stomach and closes her eyes. She uses the blanket and sweats so that the noise embraced her skin.