January is the Unbecoming, the more I know the more distance I feel -
What is relief but unexpected joys, cold winds/late night that I have learnt to forget. There was snow and a couple, and there was me. I saw you a week after, it was very comforting (that's all I can say that you understand). Good news abound, I am glad.
Many small and painful wonders, although I wish it wouldn't stop. Forgetting then remembering is both a blessing and a curse, and then it starts: the Absence.
Illness, fun, sun / summer, someone getting on a plane back from a faraway land and I no longer know. Art, lots and lots of art.
joie de vivre
What is it that you seek that I seemingly have?
I cradled your dead body in arms in a pool of sticky blood in the dead winter. I almost started crying. You weren't really dead, except that you were as good as dead. The glaciers stood still as heroic witnesses as I valiantly slayed your betrayal, I silenced the hollow gaps that ached of nostalgia and I savor the glory from this act of cowardice (but the only one that I know)
(what now) I wish: I was special, and that I stopped the car with the brakes and screamed at you for hiding, for being so elusive even as years past, when I first not-met you. For courage and your ignorance, so I can leave and if at once your life crystallizes into regret I will be heartless and fearless so that the last name you think of is mine and the only that you remember