May 7th

A memory makes me smile when I think about it.

You are "magical".

Do you remember that?

You tell me that this night is even clearer, like some of my looks and my words.

Do you remember this one? "Magical"? I can't find a better word to describe you, to describe the effect you have on me, to qualify what I feel when you're here, what you pass on to me, what invades me what I am against you.

I don't know where you come from. I don't know how nor why you're here. I don't try to understand. I only feel.

We wanted our story to be simple and it was. I don't need anything more. Our magical simplicity is enough for me.

**

Goodbye.

We didn't know it was a goodbye.

You said: "See you soon?" I said: "Yes!" I meant it. I thought I'd see you again after we found each other again, after we reconnected our little bond, our ambiguous and uncertain bond.

Nothing was certain. Except us. I think you believed it, too. Your question surprised me and pleased me even more.

But it didn't happen.

And then I didn't know if we could see each other anymore if I couldn't have you.

And then we reconnected. For the thousandth time, I found again the effect I had forgotten. And the thrill only you give me. I found again the haste, the impatience, the ecstasy, the energy which moves me and makes me forget about the weariness, the rain and the night.

I've headed for disaster.

I believed it and then I remember how uncertain we are. You reminded me of that.

Nothing will ever be sure despite all I believe and all I create.

**

I think about your question and how it means "goodbye".

I am about to leave the place where you live, and you don't know it. I won't tell you.

I won't rush our next encounter even though it will probably be the last. I won't look for you at all costs.

When I'm gone, I'll know if we really said goodbye last winter. And if the last time was really the last.

**

Write about me. Except if you have nothing to say. If so, tell me.

Give me a bit of material, a bit of my reflection, of what I bring out, of what I send you back to.

What am I like? What would you say about me if you had to describe me? What do I inspire you?

**

You answered late but it meant nothing, so it doesn't matter.

"Nothing matters to you."

Even the fact that you're not here anymore.

Even the fact that the others will disappear, too, one way or another.

Even the fact that I myself will disappear from their lives.

I don't remember what I wanted to say.

I forgot. It doesn't matter. You didn't answer. You were busy, and you have as little room for me as you've always had.

Why would you be interested in what I think?

You did well to not answer. Even though I was waiting for you. Even though I was expecting you at a certain hour.

I mustn't wait for you.

I didn't wait long this time. I quickly forgot about you, until you rang and made me shiver.

I've written a lot of thoughts. But I'd rather let them unanswered.

They'll reflect more the void and the nothingness. Yours and mine.