2/14/2014

Losing it

Tonight's the night I'm losing grip Came close many times since you broke my cookie jar But tonight's the night baby You have to fight like a lion to get outa those holes And my strenght is all spent Walking on dead leaves The same that shadowed your pretty face Walking on dead roads That would have lead us up to pebbled paths That did take us to the woods to love Tonight's the night Babe, I'm losing grip The Gods know how hard I tried They can't be too hard on me if I slip Surely they can't be angry What do the Gods expect I can't forgive myself for wanting so bad to end it here

2/09/2014

My Day Off

We had coffee with croissants on a sidewalk table, sitting on basket chairs, and then drinks in the big halle before we took a corner at the Lebannese to feast. Then we strolled on the wet sand but the cold rain started coming at us. So the three of us went to B.'s place where we piled under great wool blankets and warmed up. We ate dark, dark chocolate, salted almonds, wild rolling mandarines and B. brewed some tea while Z. and I made the bed. The day breathed on. The sun ducked behind the fat hill. Wine brought quarrels and rivalry and then we weren't sisters anymore and I became a reluctant prize, which made us all unhappy. I was too weak to fix it and had no stomach for twists and churns. I would've flown a crappy space shuttle all the way to Klingon stars to be with you. But you were much further than that.

Hours later my steps were echoing on the damp worn stones and, turning here or there, looking for some warm spot to spend the night, I hooked up with two other drunken Sétoises, both too young. I was again trapped inside one of my own novels. Uncanny. The real pretty one had a skin condition and the short one had beer breath. They were high on the American myth. I was sinking. We checked in somewhere cheap and showered. The room lighting was all neons. Z. kept calling my mobile, trying to reel me hack in. Then she texted me, telling me B. was waiting for me in the old port. I had no idea where anything was by that point. Not that the two girls gave a damn. I woke up alone, nothing stolen, nothing gained, no numbers, no notes, nothing left but literature.