Balzac: “I know the face of my love as the sailor knows the open sea.”
As I’m gazing into this New Year, I see what happened in all those years gone by, where it happened and why:
Your look when I carefully removed the glasses from your face. I swear butterflies whirred around your head. I put my hand over those cool eyes forever.
The bridge where I first pressed my leg against your supple centre. Behind the bridge, a river. Behind that river, the mountains. Behind them: a moaning sun.
Because all thoughts had been thought, all feelings had been felt, all words had been uttered by others already. But we hadn’t met yet.
My head hurts. I must lay down before the fire cracks it open. A snow man serves coffee across the road now. I turn my mind into a blue cloud. Clear as cotton, I float away.
À votre santé, mes amis.
