Explore "The House of Lost Time" by Carlos Drummond de Andrade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I knocked on the doors of lost time. No one answered.
I knocked a second time, a third, a fourth.
No answer.
The house of lost time is half covered with ivy; the other half is ashes.
A house where no one lives, and me knocking and calling out because it hurts to call and not be heard.
Knocking, knocking. The echo returns my desperate longing to open, at least a little, this frozen palace.
Night and day become the same haze in my waiting, in my knocking and knocking.
Lost time surely doesn't exist.
The imposing house is vacant and condemned.