Thais Jacomassi
Notes on the Upfall A place in the deep countryside where the fisherman’s song plays and the leaves are forever floating in the sky
I. The air tastes of languages unknown. The unfamiliarity of every culture and the traditions they uphold leave me second-guessing each step. The weeds relentlessly grow between the cobblestone streets reminding me of the deep-rooted history of the places I visit. Both the sweet and the bitter. I never knew wet concrete could smell of pine cones and salt, depending on how far you are from the Atlantic. II. Mosaic tiles line the walls in blue and white. Colors rattle and blend into one another as trains approach and leave as quickly as they came. The air is thick and difficult to swallow, so our lungs grow heavy and a white veil is thrown over our heads. We are propelled into black holes with a force that leaves us breathless, but our eyes skid across words on a page because they are the only offer to life we will accept. Beware of the sliding doors. 5
