Nocturne #42 – Deleted Paragraph
Tonight, the words feel different - a code cracked, a dangerous truth glimpsed beyond logic. But will this ephemeral insight survive the morning's rational delete button? Witnessing thoughts destined to disappear... maybe that's their true value? Let's see if this one survives sunrise.
Well, it’s strange, returning to my own writings… It’s like climbing stairs; each step is a new discovery, but looking back, you see those footprints that now seem somehow alien and, at times, even embarrassing. These “nocturnes” are my naked, vulnerable face. The one I expose every night and often want to simply erase, obliterate in the morning.
But this particular night… this text… feels different somehow. I feel that now, at this moment, I am in that rare space where words come not just from thoughts, but from a place where logic ends and something bigger, more real begins. As if I’ve cracked some code within myself, seen something in this chaos that I couldn’t notice before. Maybe this is that brilliant foolishness, or perhaps, the dangerous truth I’ve been searching for all my life?
And that’s precisely why I know – there’s a high chance I’ll delete this tomorrow morning. Why? Because tomorrow’s Zura will wake up, read this – this nighttime elation, this strange courage, this belief that I’ve found something – and say: “WTF – am I out of my mind?” And then the usual procedure will begin: “Move to Trash.” That harsh, rational morning “me” won’t tolerate this night’s irrational, almost mystical discovery. He’ll doubt, think it was just delirium caused by lack of sleep, something too pretentious, too “un-Zura-like.”
This text is alive now, it breathes in this moment, but its life is as ephemeral as a dream upon waking. It resembles a painting left on the wall that you know must be painted over in the morning because it’s too naked, too real for the world you’ll wake up into tomorrow.
Yeah, perhaps as soon as this text is deleted, this feeling, this discovery will also be erased from my mind. So, if you’ve reached this paragraph, my dear reader (who probably exists only in my imagination), smile – you are witnessing something that might not exist tomorrow. You are reading what is destined to disappear. And maybe that’s exactly what makes it so precious? The act of writing itself, this momentary courage, is more important than preserving it forever.
So, yes, I continue… I write this, this crazy, dangerous thought to the end… I write knowing that tomorrow there might be no trace left. I write because now, at this moment, this is my only truth. And this is that part of my art without which I would simply die. I write, I ramble, I laugh at myself, and I prepare for tomorrow’s inevitable “Delete”… or maybe not this time? Maybe, just this once, morning Zura will believe night Zura?
Let’s see…