January 26, 2022
The Truth
- Rahil Najafabadi
I chose the easy route to my dreams — to sleep instead of work, but I am awake for your auditions before the play has been written. There’s a fireplace like the one at The Marlton hotel, framing my heart while it races to the meter of my silence. True art is having a showroom for the big paintings of fellow sleepers –– the work I will display on white walls that I painted for others. You were right. I am doing this for myself and not for them. I write with the life of flowers, they survive, turn toward the sunlight and photosensitize. But now I want to paint a picture that would look pretty from your eyes. You have the color of a flower and I will twist and dance with you to see the sun and grow. The soil needs you, just like every flower. You make a character convincing in a play and I will never cut your stem.
