7 January 2025

Trenz Pruca

432 First Street

Anytown, County, Postcode

Dear,

I can’t stop looking at the sun, the same way I can’t stop washing my hands. 

ETERNAL SHINE

They, or whoever they is, told us not to look at the sun because it would damage our irises. But how could we not, when every surface glimmers with itself, touching everything that it sees. 

DOLOREM IPSUM 

I glimpse the sun on everything and am painted. Every look is a small burn which I do not know, but I know that it is there. “Pain itself” of the language. 

I see the sun the way I see pleasure. I sense it is tricking me the way the planet hurtling and running tricks the mind and body into a false stillness. It is a trucco to see the stillness of the world when there is no permanence, a lonely transience that deceives us into believing an eternity. 

IS THE SUNSHINE FOREVER

I choose to blind myself to the glare and to be lost above the plane. A sly thing sometimes hiding I wonder if our moods line up when I feel sad. Don’t you know me by now? Must you pierce every surface and thing that you lay your sight on? The burning passion drawing love lines. Addiction to blind optimism. Blind faith. Blind. Blind eye.

Who is Urna Semper? Always Urna. The ancient language that confuses and holds power, yours sincerely. Sincerely trying. Why questions upon questions and no answers. I am rambling. I want to come back to the sun. It has its way of pulling me back to its morning. Its delicate afternoon as time washes by. I blush when I glance. A blushed glance. Not so predictable, but only enough to know the time.