I must admit defeat. I must admit that you have resisted all of my advances. Drunkenness intoxicating early today leaves room for doubt, the fragility and waiting, the sin of love. The unease replaces the bewitching, with a permanent feeling of desire mixed with frustration. A heavy morbid melancholy weighs on me, stronger than love and mild transient hatching. The flowers fade easily. With you, my childhood falls down on me like a load of distant memories. And here I am contemplating the work of my life mired up to his neck even more unable to move before. It is a brutal return. Immobilization negative, destructive feelings and retrograde. I do not abandon you. After all I want for nothing. But yet you're here periodically. If not drunk, I think of you, if not asleep, I dream of you, if you're not there, you're everywhere. In this cigarette that I smoke and you smoke too. In this beer that we drank together at the pub. I am afraid to start your indifference to love more than your actual charms. Abandonment, Proust said, makes more in love than being.
Every morning that God does, I open the chat program and secretly wait your entry online. Sometimes when you connect, I do not show my presence and remains hidden for hours sometimes a day. I know I have nothing to say interesting because the whole society condemns my condition of being idle. So I wait in vain for the night anxiously we meet again and that we furnish alcohol under the same provisions as the first night, but no, none of this will occur. Even if we meet again, I would not be the same, neither you nor us. This we that I alone decide, what we that separates us from the beginning. I did not really desired. This must be it love, thinking of you without you sexualize.
But no, nothing of love and delicious without love. Leaving only the obsession, the great racing fun when fun is over. Yet this very precious to me idle at the moment. I have never been in greater need of isolation and time. I collect myself, I read, write, I find myself slowly. Sometimes I projected a few months before, I met you on the terrace of light into radiant presence my fiancee and I thought you were dull, teenager, unattractive, we exchanged greetings and courtesies both, and we left her, and I half-heartedly . "Love is not "did we have agreed you and me. Between us there will never. No regret, the simple and light emanation of a memory that I do not know if it is agreeable or not. Time to think and oblivion submerged. In the distance we see the planes take off one after the other. One moment I forget that my wife and I were coming back to the airport. My wife ... Well, I already forgot that we were only engaged. Maybe eventually you or your memory? You who love both departures and a final tribute as a sign of respect, a hint of admiration, a look of incomprehension. The world is too small. Our meeting had no place. Say I wanted it to be you, my wife ... That is always the case. This tension between the expectation of one side and the harassment of another. No, our relationship will never be a collection of thoughts and aphorisms of broken hopes and vain memories. A collection than you probably never will read. You'll leave, I remember having enjoyed without faith, a pledge of eternal recommencement. The hope is for life, will say it.
