The night is closing in but I have disparate fragments of thoughts to dispel before I fall asleep.
It goes like this
There’s space for sadness in even the most unlikely places. It’s found in the way you suddenly remember you’re in a karaoke pit
An old tree in the middle of the night- too dark for photographs
These realities are the sum of our impulsive fantasies- there’s no other way around to finding answers to what?
Cold blades beneath our feet, faint furls of smoke: deromanticized intimacy
Discursive consolations, the consolations of discourse
In cold sheets
Morning stole your glances, they made them mine to keep. In the latest letter, you said that ‘superegos will become the death of us’. And when we spoke again under sheets, spelling names with your fingers on my shin and arms, you were searching for something I don’t believe in.
Le reve de Dieu c’est seulement en reve