J’aimerais tomber amoureuse de lui. Mais c’est surtout parce que j’adore le contact de sa peau sur la mienne.
I just went for a walk in the quiet Aberdeen. Half past eleven. The sun had finally disappeared, black and lamp poles. Something else that I’m going to miss, this endless sun. I said au revoir to my beloved flatmate, she’s leaving before me, life is repetitive. I’m edible, apparently, and that makes me love her even more.
Tea ginger and lemon, predictably. Quiet blow and sip, warmth.
I went for a walk because my head was bang-banging in my temples. I hugged my flatmate and her tendre moitié before leaving, my bag filled with cakes.
In my head, there is a dance of circles. One for the travel, one for the stability, one for the good-byes, one for that kiss. Why does life start to be interesting when I leave? did I ask him. I left him a cake, and another for his curly neighbour. And went back, suddenly wanting to run. Bo-oom, shouted the bridge.
George was quiet, and my circles were glowing in the tender freshness.
I would like to never touch anyone’s skin anymore. Too much human contact. I feel like depriving myself of it so I could become ultra-sensitive to every caress.
Years ago, I would dream of living in the middle of the ocean on a small boat following the wind. Sometimes it was the desert, but always one thing was redundant: loneliness. Since then, I have been thinking about that time and wondering why I don’t dream about that anymore.
And all this future. It’s almost stifling.
Gentle smile.
I would like to dance now. If only my sore body would let me. If only my eyes could stay open.
