I want to listen to the playlist I used to play before, when I would carelessly throw thousands of music tracks into love, connecting with another world, traveling through it, finding the people I had lost, and telling them what I couldn’t say back then.

I would reread Mauriac, Hesse, and every book I’ve ever read.

I would relive those feelings, the initial emotions when I first discovered Francesca Woodman’s photography.

I would go back to that café I used to frequent, where I would sink into sadness, have something to drink—even though I neither drank nor smoked back then.

I would find a small dimension for myself, just as I wanted, to escape sorrow. I would shelter myself there for a few years and return with a clear mind—free.

Nothingness haunts being
It's true, Jean Paul, so true

But I choose to rebel
And I prefer Camus

Monsieur Mauriac was an artist
God may be one too

I went to Paris onmy honeymoon
C'est Magnifique!
                        Merci beaucoup.