I thought we talked about electricity last night.
Because of the fear of silence generated by bodies in comfort
Lying on broken backs
Where it was said.
The second time
Because I thought it would have been irrelevant
The talk in which we said nothing
but we need to talk
Where what was said was to fill up and set us aside
Feeling and breaking after
Where the ephemeral becomes strong and we only think that being
not enough
Then we fill
We fill
To turn back on our bodies and twist our gaze
And as in dreams we curl up waiting to appear
Another day we will talk about fear and the security of having ourselves
That quickly became the vulnerability of the other.
Someone said that to write is to talk about love when it is over
And I agree that what has survived is thanks to the letters.
I also wrote when it was over
And the viscera came out wherever they wanted without leaving any trace of me.
...