Confession sheep woke us up. He knew we were better being awake this Sunday morning than being aware of this past night. There was thunder and grim lightning. Confession sheep knew we awoke that same moment the first raindrops fell from heaven. He knew that keeping your eyes shut sometimes means hoping that you are not there either. We pretended to be asleep, hoping to fall asleep, and confession sheep let us pretend and he let us hope. He just let us, period. He heard our feet fidgeting shyly. That is why he knew we were awake. But being awake was a fact, regardless of the subtle discretion of our nightly fumbling. We asked him why he let us.
‘I don’t have the choice between love and obligation’, confession sheep said. ‘I don’t have it, and I don’t have to make it, I don’t need it, I am free of such inexorabilities. I know that certain sheep are wired differently; in a way that they have complete genetic despair to give a new chance to what will never be given a new chance. And those sheep ask a why.’
We did not understand. It was like confession sheep poured us an answer, knowing that we suffer from this disability called adipsia.
‘Look,’ confession sheep said, ‘every parallel logic is consistent in its own way, coherent in its own way, perfect in and of itself, and indifferent for all the others. You are you. I am I. Fact. But facts have the tendency to hide the truth from us. And in the area of not-knowing you asked your why.’
‘Because you is you and I is I, there is a gulch between us. Or because of this gap we are allowed being you versus I. I would recommend highly not look for truth or facts (or ask for any clarification for that matter) in the area between you and me, the writer and the reader, nor between the written and the writer, but in the area between the written and the reader.’
‘Because it is not about me at all. The stories that I write, or tell, are always autobiographical. Yours too. But none of them is a confession. Do you see the difference?’
‘Look, why questions can’t really exist. If you use different lighting you can cast so much more shadows than one. What you think you smell could mean something totally different to me. You smiled, thinking it was cotton candy, while I detected a vague scent of early adult age, combined with secrets, heated cities and envy.’
‘I know you want an answer.’
‘But please hear this: I want is never an argument, even if you haven’t said it out loud. But to divert your persistence then: your enchantment winks at me, I like that.’
‘I maybe even woke you up for just that. For you to breeze me with the fresh cool caress of the desire to duplicate our previous encounters.’
‘Hehe, you don’t like me saying that, do you.. remove that hand now. Do it subtle. Discrete. Do it now.’
‘What do you think I have felt if nosheep would have given the word for shadowlove? Or hangover? What would you have worn this evening if nobody gave a name to this thing called t-shirt?’
‘Even in your sleep you prefer silence over perfection,’ confession sheep. ‘I love that about you. For me it would not have mattered if you were awake, asleep or pretending to be awake, or asleep.’
‘I know it’s not always about me, so I will say this: I know you were scared last night.’
‘That’s why I asked the sun to come out, to wake you, to make you feel you can finally get up.’
‘So you cast more than one shadow.’