The Play «The City Where I Am»

My mother left me when I was three years old.

Ten years later, I faced her essence directly, but I could not physically bring myself to touch her hands, her shoulder blades, collarbones, back, or knees. I spoke to the sky and to the earth. I spoke to streetlights, to railway stations, to the living. I spoke in a church, on a football field - to the goalposts - and to all the other fragments of this city.

The truth is, I am just a boy. And I am searching for someone who no longer exists.

I look for someone who is gone, and instead I find myself - a self that, it turns out, may never have existed either. Or maybe I don’t find anything at all. Anyway, I hate my birthday.