I die of dreams;

What is it that a shadow is trying to say / with the borrowed tongue of silence? Here I stand, // having heard all that has been said, / and like the prolonged abundance of an olive tree // I recall only the beauty of a life, / vast and resilient.

It feels good to think about you when I'm warm in bed. I feel as if you're curled up there beside me, fast asleep.

"We have missed it…There is nothing at all to be found here. I will travel farther, and I may find it in other places."

[...] — I tell myself but Louise you are not going to kill yourself it is not necessary, you are strong enough now to push suicide away – this thought makes me snap out of a nightmare. I am convinced but Louise you don’t owe anything to anyone You no longer have debts, you do not have debts – You can close the door and chase claims from your conscience; You made yourself a victim of your own masochism; You want to expiate crimes that do not exist – You do not have to die for Anyone – This realization is a revelation

I refuse the song of hope, tethered to nothing // but more hope.

I know where you are / with my eyes closed, we are bound to each other / with huge invisible threads,