UNTITLED (THE HISTORY OF FOLD... | melanieteresabohrer

UNTITLED (THE HISTORY OF FOLDING)

2018

silk, handmade washi paper, gold thread and graphite

TEXT FROM THE 4TH DAY OF APRIL, 2018 IN CHIYODA, TOKYO

SILK FROM UNKNOWN DATE (1990's), IN MUNICH, GERMANY

HANDMADE WASHI PAPER FROM THE 10th DAY OF APRIL, IN CHUO, TOKYO

GOLD LEAF THREADED ON WASHI PAPER FROM THE 27TH DAY OF MARCH, 2018 in KAMIGYO-KU, KYOTO

I make decisions out of fear for regret.

yours are inflicted upon you.

at 10:04 am on the 3rd day of this month

(57 days after I last saw you in that same apartment we said goodbye 9 months ago, and cried 7 weeks together about the pain of breaking each other’s hearts)

you told me a tale of last moments.

about 6 years ago you drew eyes on the top of your chin, resting your head on my legs, you covered the top half of your face with your right hand as your mouth spoke upside down at me.

your voice bubbled the words “I love you” a few weeks later, as I cut chocolate hazelnut biscotti before placing it back into the oven.

I still smell the crisp air and mucus that sits right above your cupid’s bow after you stepped off your bike and into our room every night.

your top lip is upturned, angled and just a bit slimmer than the bottom.

through a distorted image on my computer, you said you felt blood coat your lungs. you rub your mouth. I see the cracks of your skin trapped with her memory.

I don’t kiss those lips anymore, you tell me someone else does. You ask me if you should fly to Tokyo. I can’t convince my mind to say yes, yours says “I can’t be with you.”

I fold; to organize, preserve, make sense of things,

and give up.

I met my partner through a sublet ad on Craigslist in 2012.

We spent 5 years living and learning together. I left him when I left the US, in 2017.

On my 3 day in Japan in a pixelated internet call he told me his friend died in front of his eyes.

In an instant, a hardened edge turns frail and soft. Our helplessness made me nauseous. Retracing our history I lay awake with chest pain.

Someone else held him.