Bokelskere.no

That night I worked for hours on the description. I held the cotton ball with a pair of tweezers up to the light, trying to find words that would express it, but the thing was lost to language; it resisted it even more that the glove. And when i tried metaphors, the object sank so completely into the other thing that I abandoned making comparisons. What was this piece of waste? As i sat sniffing the fibers and poking at the brown stain with a needle, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of disgust. The cotton ball tld me nothing. It was a blank, a cipher; it probably had no connection to anything terrible, an yet I felt as if I had intruded on a shameful secret, that I had seen what I should not have seen.