Conclusion

At first, I smiled a lot, I laughed all the time. It was stronger than me. And then I started to look at you better, to search your gaze to find the answers that I couldn't hear in our pretty silences. I supported it for a long time. I tried to find what you weren't saying, but I saw nothing but a smile and a game, a gray and serious air that also tried to unravel a mystery.

We searched endlessly for each other because we were bottomless, as empty as each other so we grabbed life in the flesh and no longer sought to understand why we had found each other, why we were there.

I remember the day you asked me why I was kissing you "like that". What do you mean "like that"? Like I already knew it was you? Like I was kissing your whole being and not just your lips?

You had felt it, the change in me, from the first few nights… I held on like I rarely did. My looks, my kisses, my words and my thoughts were more and more true. I was kissing you "like that" because I was kissing you, you and only you.

Do you remember the time when we wondered whether we should see each other more or less frequently? We also told each other that we should talk to each other without undressing. We have thought too much… We wanted to do well but we have thought too much. We were quiet at first, then we talked too much.

Now we have nothing more to calculate, nothing to anticipate, neither the quantity of words we can exchange, nor their intensity, nor the right degree of our proximity.

Sometimes I still think of our scorching, perched, soaring lines, our too vague questions and our naked answers. I think of your drawings. I think of our messages, of my mind which sleeps without dreaming since I met you.

Alone, my little blah-blah doesn't mean much anymore. It no longer corresponds to anything or anyone. There is no longer anything to think about, to dream about. Nothing feeds it anymore. Its source has dried up.

There are still days when I would like to see you again. There are still days when I would like to read your name, hear your voice and resume playing, but I'm scared… Scared to dive back into the game and hit our wall head-on again.

You make yourself small… I don't know if, like me, you think about our words. I don't know if you remember them or if you forget them. If you fear their effect or if they have simply disappeared from your memory, if time and the other women have erased them.

A few times, less and less, I try, I write to you, and the lack I was trying to silence intensifies. I can never know if you will answer me. It is this uncertainty that scares me the most, this expectation, this hope that keeps me close to you, in the gray and hazy area of the memory of us.

To no longer take the risk of being surprised, to no longer ask myself new questions or wait for words that would widen the void instead of filling it, should I move away from you permanently?

I always dream of a simple and light bond to be able to keep you, in a new beautiful form, less crazy but sincere… Would you play the game? The second part? The play of good friends, friends of writing and pure fantasy, clearer than the stars you carved into my head and my flesh?

Are we really at the end of the road?

I don't know, but I don't regret a thing. I promised myself I wouldn't. I felt your effect because I desired, provoked, and pampered it once I had it. I kept it up, this version of you that I created for myself, which today doesn't exist anymore.

I wouldn't regret anything even if I could. I don't know if you were a form of love, but you were you. You have guided me sometimes, you have often lost me, you have made me forget, you have made me hope and find the desire to feel alive again. You were a little extra in the ordinary, a new horizon, a happy accident, an unexpected breath, a gift from the present.