Sphinx

I kissed her forehead, wiped off the sweat, and thought about how on my dying day there probably wouldn’t be anyone to do the same for me.

I was haunted by the possibility of settling into a place long enough for time’s passing to become tangible.

I had been deluding myself for so long that once I finally came to that realization, my life had already dissolved into waiting vainly for a death that was equally vain.

And I never suspected that the bottom of this hell was anywhere other than in myself

I had thought that I would never be able to grow tired of loving, but one night I woke to an absence of love and felt no torture: it was the absence of this torture that truly scared me, that tortured me

They desire me, admire me, respect me…But of all those who will lament my death, how many will lament my life?

Always failing, impaling myself on this fulcrum between speaking and keeping quiet, a knot was forming that I couldn’t undo, little by little strangling my voice, cutting it off in a silence haunted by powerlessness.

it was something else, always something else, this indefinable something else where desire hides itself.

Before, I was mourning the present; today I mourn a past that was never present.

I don’t want any past
only want things which cannot last