I would like to tell you a story. It started like a game. Perhaps like a mistake. Or rather, I am sure I’m mistaken. I would like to tell you a story.
It all started, I hope you will understand, within the silence the notebook.
She asked me: “Well, have you seen the sun blooming without?”. I was dumbfounded hearing these provocative commas.
I thought nobody knew. I was sure. So I convinced myself he hadn’t said this to his son. Sure I was.
I would like to tell you a story. You. You who are always present. You who are never there when I would like you to be. Apropos of would…
The story is not one of the most edifying, as you certainly realized when you looked into the mirror covered in my vomit. However, in any case, you know in life you need to be ready for everything. Even not living.
I cannot look in your direction, it would give you a definite importance you’ll stand knot over. In addition to the function of my love. Which therefore opens again.
One sad day I wondered if no one had ever thought about the grass before treading on it. About every single blade. Like the fibres of my nerves. Screaming. You will tell me that this image, too, doesn’t suit the situation. I beg your pardon and the death of the skull of nowhere.
Et. I (first person singular) who comprehend the entire universe except me, and maybe you… when you cry.
What need can you have of me even if my caresses please you? Stop.
Full stop.
