2023-02-15

Untitled

Awoken from slumber and feeling the tension of the moment par coup,
I flew to the archives, meticulously kept but thus far unread.

These records changed me;
One realizes one can’t let go of things one has said.

Forsooth, the voices of the pages have been whispering to my unconscious,
And at last question meets answer.

I’d been using a crutch to stand;
One outgrows such things.

And yet the memories circle me as vultures;
I can’t run from the easeness of tender voices, heartbeats, gazes.

My duties in the end call for abortion,
But I feel as though I were born into a new and unforgiving subjectivity,

To my left, emptiness, to my right, rien.

From my first and last breath,
To my first and last sleep,
I respire in air exhaled by you,

And in all my dreams we are together,
Moving through the world as we did, yet better.

“It’s not about having someone to love me anymore
But of gaining riches by being born-again poor.”

One must remember:
L’avenir dure longtemps