Just hate
Yesterday I had a call with a friend. What bothers me is the strong influence she has on me. It annoys me to hear from her without needing to call or message her. It bothers me the suffering I feel because of her presence. The emotions she manages to transmit to me. The constant feeling of hitting against something that doesn’t come out.
Now I am here. I am motionless because I feel her stillness.
Gold nails
I write immersed in the smell of urine. I often write in the bathroom. Hidden. Often at night. In the upstairs bathroom. The small one. The sound of the keys hitting the walls. Tum tum tum.
A few days ago, I saw a cashier. She had painted nails. The pinky was blue and the thumb was gold. The other nails faded and created something between blue and gold. I don’t know if they were designs. But the gold nail was very beautiful. Shiny. While I was throwing the roast and potatoes into the bag, I didn’t know if I should ask her to let me look better.
Anise
I can walk away from the screen and look from a distance. You back there, facing a red wall. While I wait for you to finish. And I keep telling myself that everything is fine. Quick time before a long wait. Time that burns before a long emptiness. I brush against your image. I resist the temptation to write to you. I keep you suspended. An image of you in my mind. Your madness poorly hidden. At least to my eyes. Behind the need for certainty, the desire to get lost. Still in your room.
A man in a tracksuit
The hours in front of the monitor doing things that don't interest me.
Tasks for companies I don't know. Applications that don't have great applications. Company ads I can't find. Job ads I respond to. Response messages that don't arrive. An empty email inbox. Hours spent in meetings where the future of a button is decided. A button that will be removed at the next meeting. A button that will be replaced by another button. A button that will be deleted through another button.
A woman halfway
It has been three years since I met her, and I can't say how much I know. I wish I could say otherwise, but I haven't yet found a way to get as close as I would like. Sometimes I feel like I'm where I want to be, but I realize I'm still not close enough. That I'm still far away.
So I trust my feelings and I imagine what might be there. I remain seated outside, waiting for the doors to open.
Letter from a little pink cage
When I meet a friend, I should only ask them to give me the pleasure of spending some good time together. Maybe to talk about something that only they can understand, considering everything we have been through.
I often manage to do this, but sometimes I can’t. And often it happens that people run away. I think they’re afraid of the truth they might share. Sharing their truth with me, means showing me that they are fragile.