I don't know what to write except that my tears are biting. This feeling of lack is starting to take hold of my body, my heart and my mind. I feel drained of something. So I make an appointment. I'm in a waiting room, hoping that the doctor will come. That he'd actually deign to come and get me. The doctor passes in the corridor, looks at me, talks to me and leaves again, then he checks up on me, gives me some news of his own and leaves again, over and over again. Is he a good doctor? You can't judge the quality of that, but he doesn't play the role I expect him to play. Does the doctor know that I've made an appointment? The doctor knows he is not a doctor?

I feel. I don't know how I feel. A little empty, a little too full, a little sad, a little happy, a little too much, or not enough. In a word, I'm gray. I'm never gray. I'm black or white. But gray... never. I experience too much or not enough, I laugh too much or cry too much, I feel too much or feel nothing. There's no middle ground for me. Half-measures, I don't know that rule. I give everything or I give nothing. Isn't that normal? I don't know. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I always love too much, maybe not. I always love too much when I love yes, but I don't love easily. Interesting questions. Can I develop? No. Why not? Because I don't know what I'm talking about, that's all. It's a subject lost at the back of my mind. I don't want to be understood, I don't want to understand. It's something that can't be understood or explained. It's just me. Do you understand? Maybe not. Do I understand? Less much.

Why should I miss something I never possessed?

An ephemeral memory of a futile moment. A precense that will be more memorable in its absence. A feeling that exists only in my mind. A missed being.

The pain of this lack is healing. I think about it often, wondering what I'd like to do about it. With no apparent way out.

Scratches on my heart, words wanting to escape, letters never delivered.

In the regret of a future taken away. I persist in longing for this missed being.

An empolyed word in all its meaning. The lack of the missed being, that I may have perhaps missed.

Once again, you're here, on this sofa, watching television as if something interesting is happening. But it's off. Music is playing in the background, just enough so that I can't sleep, yes, I can't sleep because of the music.

You're there, as if I didn't exist. Around you, emptiness, empty bottles. The floor freezes my feet. I take two steps towards you, you turn around. You freeze my blood.

I'm crying. I'm frightened. You open your mouth. I'm frightened. You tell me that's all I know how to do, cry, over and over again. You ask me how I still have the strength. Your words rush through my head like a torrent in a storm. I feel like I'm drowning. But I know how to swim. I can't sleep because I'm crying. It's my fault.

In fact, I feel a little too much like your words. Your words that you use senselessly and indiscriminately without knowing that they can hurt. Your words that you value no less than yourself. I feel a cut in my chest when you have the misfortune to tell me once again that my person bothers you. Totally misunderstood, I know that explaining to you how I feel is a waste of time, because you're too tired to understand a word of it.

Your words are sharp, like a leaf could cut the tip of one of your long fingers. Still emotional, I try to explain how I feel. Unfortunately, everything is as confused as one of our happy old memories. You look at me, with your glassy eyes soaked in that liquid I hate so much. I look blurry because you're looking at me like the world is about to fall apart under your feet so you take another sip to kill the rest of me. The sound of glass clattering on the table. My body trembles. A few ideas stray into my head and I babble a few resentments that make me look stupid. My heart feels wounded. As usual, you twist me every which way until my soul bleeds too much. Wounds from the past not yet healed due to lack of understanding. Wounds still open, not yet closed. I bleed little by little, so as not to worry, but enough to lose my strength. You stand up and the next thing I know, you're standing in front of me, you're so tall, I have to lift my head to look at you. I don't. I don't move. My body trembles, my soul resists. You scream, you humiliate me. Without warning, I'm on the ground. Why, I can't remember, but it's my fault. Yes, I'm crying.

Surprised, you end up telling me that we love each other. That I'm the most important person in your eyes and that you'll never let anyone hurt me.

“If one day someone hurts you, believe me, He will die”.

I think instantly. D..

Summer Night (Souvenir 2022)

How do we know?

I know it. Now I know it's something we've always known. Because it's something you don't have to look for. One day, like any other, you meet the eyes of this person, a person like any other. But even if this person is like everyone else, he's different, he sees you, he sees what others have never seen. He knows what others have never known. Without needing to speak, this person and you are finally reunited, without looking for each other these two souls united by an invisible link connect. They feel each other. They know without knowing, they don't need to make the smallest effort, and they make every effort to try and do without each other without achieving it. Because they mustn't, this link stronger than all wills joins them. One day or other, if that person is your person, your paths will cross again, because that's how it is, no matter how loose the cord, it will always need to be tightened. And this despite the passage of time, because time has no effect on this connection.

I always seem to be something, but I'm not.

I'm here and there without really being present. Places, people, moments that take advantage of my corporeal presence and still don't realize my absence for a second.

A presence hidden in an absence. How ironic. Those who think they see me, don't see me. I'm invisible. Invisible in what I let show.

In reality, I only let you see what I want you to see. In the end, not much. Limited access, only in the awareness of what I accept to give. Nobody really knows me. Because... Because that's the way I am.

I'm a lot, I'm more than the words that get lost in my mind, I'm more than the sentences that have never left my lips, I'm more than anything I've ever given to anyone, or almost anyone.

I hold myself captive. I hold inside me the secret of who I am.

Almost no one, come back to me one day, because it was you, and it's still you.

A thought. Every day I hope. That's the scourge of existence. Hoping, condemning ourselves to hoping for what we want and forgetting our hopes once we get what we want.

However, what I'm hoping for this time is different. The desired commodity will be desired forever, for it touches my bliss. My bliss wrenched away from beyond the seas. So far, so near. That's the frustration.

The object of desire is someone. Someone more than human, authentic. How rare, how pure, how priceless. He doesn't know it, he doesn't see it.

He wanders in the wind that caresses my face, he is between the rays of the sun that warms my soul, he is in the sound of the waves that burst in my heart. He's everywhere, even in his absence, he resonates within me.

Part of me and him. Part of him is me. Two ghosts wandering in each other's souls. Vestiges of moments lived. So many words, so...

So, yes. I hope so. Again and again. Hoping to see you again and never let you get away.