Lightly, lightly.

The month was November, the leaves had turned to a brilliant red. What I wanted most was time to absorb something which I already knew I should never forget.

“I went back but I didn’t stay. Everyone I cared about was gone, some dead, some disappeared into one of those places that don’t exist, the ones we dreamed about because we saw them from the top of the hills—”

Being in love = addiction, obsession, exclusion of others, insatiable demand for presence, paralysis of other interests and activities.

“& i crawled inside you and took off all my clothes and still couldn’t exorcise your heart.”

“The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

I do not really know whether I have survived. My inner self has shut itself up more and more. As though to protect itself, it has become inaccessible even to me,

Forget me: my truth. My masterpiece is my nonexistence.