I am a hundred years old, she tells herself
I am a hundred years old, she tells herself. I am a hundred years old, and all the lives I’ve had travel with me. I carry all the beings I was and in every step I take, I pay them tribute. Talk to me about the rain and I will tell you where it comes from, talk to me about silence and I will tell you where it begins. I hear a whistle that won’t let me sleep. I seem to carry it within me, even though I tell my ear to stop listening.