Does this story want to be told in the first person?
In a story without beginning or end, an i that starts
in the middle is malformed, is incomplete, presents
no meaning. i is a burden that cannot tell its story.
Even this ordinary story. The uncapitalized i must say
things you cannot understand, things I dare not say.
And how can you be that perfect listener? You have to
know so much first. Things even I don’t know. So much
about wanting. So much about running away. You have
to know how far you can get when you want to, but
cannot run. You have to know which one needs more
want – running towards or simply running away. You
have to know that coming out of Rumi’s mausoleum
in Konya, i cried. Because to say everything there is
to say, you have to feel everything there is to feel,
and there is no way out of the labyrinth of not feeling
and not saying, both walking blindfolded through a
dark warren, looking for an exit that may not be there.