You looked great tonight.
You seemed to be in your element,
Surrounded by rich people,
You looked rich too.
I’ve never seen you in these types of events
But I guess I had to find out who you are.
The you that everybody sees,
The you for the public.
You looked fantastic in this waistcoat.
I’ve never really liked this outfit,
But it looks good on you.
You were praised tonight,
I know you’re used to it,
But I was not used to hearing all of these persons only complimenting you.
You didn’t see me that night.
Everybody saw me because I was out of place.
I suddenly became a stranger in your eyes.
You invited me,
But not my clothes apparently.
Stay with your waistcoat and your money
Tonight I’m free.
Free of judgements
Free of criticisms
Free of you.
I’ll leave in my dress.
I’ll leave with my heart and my values
Stay with your waistcoat and your shallow mind.

You used to be my favourite encounter.
I used to go to this park
And just sit on a bench
Pretending to read my book
Pretending to listen to the birds singing
Pretending to observe the nature
Pretending to take pictures.
But I was just waiting for you.
Everyday, around lunchtime, you came.
You ordered at that bar
You wrote some words
In that little notebook that you carried with you everywhere
And then you were gone.
Once, you came with someone.
He was a friend of yours I think,
He asked you what was in your notebook.
I remember that I listened carefully :
“Drawings” that’s what you said.
But I knew you were lying.
I’ve seen you, several times, writing.
Why would you lie?
When we started to talk, some months after, I asked you the same question
You had the same answer.
But then you added :
“Because for me, words are drawings.
I don’t look at what they mean
But at what they look like.”
I like encounter as a word
Because it is all *******,
You can write it at one go
But you have to raise your pen
To finish the cross on the T.
We too, were together,
But at some point we had to part,
Only to meet up the following day
In an interminable encounter.

You are the missing piece of my puzzle.

That’s what you once said.
That’s what I once believed.
But I guess you could finish your puzzle without me
Because I’m no longer by your side.
You threw me away.
Maybe I belong to another puzzle,
Because I didn’t belong to you.

I just want to be enough,
I just want to find my place in this world.
What role am I supposed to play?
This is the only thing I will ask today.
Because I know you don’t like when I talk.
I was supposed to be a part of the puzzle,
Not another puzzle.
I was supposed to complete you,
Not to be your equal.
We are not the same.
But at least I’m useful.
And I’ll be useful to somebody else.
I let you flirting,
Try to find another piece,
Because I’m not compatible with you,
Because I’m not yours
And I don’t want to be yours.
I want to be my own puzzle.
And even if I’m only a piece of a puzzle,
I will fight.

Because you’re not a puzzle without me,
But I’m a piece without you.

Sometimes I have thoughts I should not have.
This kind of scary thoughts.
The ones you don’t want anyone to know about.
The ones that make you look around in order to make sure that no one can read your mind.
As if someone could have, just at that particular moment, that particular power.
But you have to make sure that nobody is looking strangely at you,
Because even to a stranger,
It is delicate to admit that this kind of thoughts crosses your mind from time to time.
I don’t know if I like those thoughts.
I don’t know if, because they are the product of my mind, I should be attached to them.
I don’t know if they are really mine,
Or if someone is speaking through me,
As if someone was trying to reach me, to come in contact with me.
As if these thoughts made me special.
But they are still scary thoughts, disturbing thoughts.
And you know they don’t come from nowhere
You know they have a purpose in your life
You know they have a reason to cross your mind and disturb your peace.
But you can’t throw them away because they are yours.
And you have learnt to cherish what is yours and only yours,
What can’t be taken away from you.
So you keep them with you, in your back pocket,
And you pray for them to stay in there and not to scatter
Like little ashes made of fire, still hot and untouchable, but fascinating.
These are the thoughts that come to haunt me whenever the silence surrounds me.
They keep me company.
But they are scary, because they can make you think about things you had never thought about,
They can make you see yourself in a different way,
They can make you feel invisible even for yourself.
That’s why I can’t help but fearing those thoughts.
Because they have power.
And they won’t hesitate to burn.

Souffle.
That means breath in French.
And many other things that I can’t describe.
That means that I am in peace.
That means that I have the right to exist
Just because I, too, breathe.
I, too, am alive.
I, too, can speak for myself.
I belong to the living ones.
I inhale.
I exhale.
I breathe.
That long expiration,
As I close my eyes,
Is the only proof that I exist.
That’s why this word might be my favourite
Because thanks to it, I have the certainty of my existence.
That’s a short and soft word
With a deep meaning to it
And a deep meaning to me.