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Tache

Very late one night she said later she probably would think of this as a single night somewhat blurred, unreal, taking on the soft sofa - as if the light sifted already own body, lent him a consistency a bit vague, muffled, it was not what she wanted there, Night after night, blurred, somehow lend itself to a light dark and sweet, which made her face less discernible, was it not locked into a sort of cocoon where she felt protected, unrecognizable? After all, it would ultimately be recognized yet, but it would be someone else, a presence, gradually, immutable, on the sofa, a subdued presence, existing not outside, that can not be seen without the night, eyes misty spirit, after all no one could recognize them only through their own eyes softened, soaked in alcohol as in advance of oblivion and one would expect it to be there at night, in the presence rather than face, we first recognize its presence, sure, before associating it with his face, dive a little elsewhere . Was not this what she wanted there to be somewhere else, far-visibility otherwise.
And yet he still remained, as the night wore on, something like the fear of being recognized without doubt, -Unmasked-and that was the sensation of a spot burning his skin, mixed with the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his body, as if, as and when the contours around her faded that his own gaze was dissolving the stain gangrene more, slowly devouring her body, becoming larger and darker. Would come a time when it would, through her dress, visible, where she would escape - and it would be betrayed. She felt, even before the show, we could feel like something exude from his body, imbuing around her, the atmosphere, poisoning the sweet cocktails a barely perceptible taste, and yet tenacious, interfering little by little, she could not fight against this advance, against the feeling of the spot filling her mouth until the urge to vomit without power. She felt that what we would see first, it was not forcémen the stain itself, but something indefinable, attached to it, which would hit suddenly looks, they not then they would instinctively that there was no place, there was to it, nowhere place, it was on the sofa as elsewhere, inlaid , trying in vain to take root, to fade the sofa to be separated without doing so. What they would see is a sense of stain, the confused sensation of something moving, as inadequate - Alien-up to discern without doubt, in the recess of her dress, a form dark and hot, looking to expand further each time as if it was eaten, until you see it, this strange spot taking possession of his body, until you see his body, saying that the spot foreign everywhere.

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Le poète

He said
And she put the stones in his pockets, and felt, feel the weight of the stones as if it was his body a little, it was fine, however, a summer day, with the summer sun and the quiet surrounding, I felt that it could have been be the weight of my own body, weighted with lead, moving ahead with certainty, because she knew a long time.

She looks, his eyes are lost, when it reaches his eyes are already lost, smoking alone, the deserted terrace, she said, it is strangely beautiful, there in solitude, some something untouched, immobile - she hesitates before approaching, maybe it is a bit too still only at night and empty terraces. She would say nothing, by far she recognizes her silence, texture intimate, almost secret, his own silence, she asked that they coil them together, he would know he understands - the sleepless nights terraced, and what they carry. She would tell her she has lost her eyes too often, she dint know that it does not clear, however, she thought, and then back the urge to close the eyes and disappear.

He said
Then she walked, and then she put in water, very slowly, her clothes filling with water, is riveting in his body, with stones in his pockets, as the same weight, in advance, and the summer sun. Very slowly, perhaps to let his body still gets heavier with every step further, everything that could be contained in it, very slowly perhaps for the feeling full, complete, of his own body sinking of this she lived.


is the poet who must die.

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kiss

And she had said, while the night was already too late, she could kiss him without really knowing why, she would have probably wanted to do - without desire, it was a else, on the spot while seemed quite possible, accessible, she staggered a little, however. It was not away for there was still this feeling, wave, pushing it away, feeling that it was not a good idea, it would alter anything, it does not embrace the people like that, to appropriate them a little, without desire to suck a little, in itself, the dispossession of themselves - it was probably what she had already unwittingly really, or rather, knowing dimly, and scared to know.
She had changed, and very noticeable - perhaps this night she was finally forced to acknowledge it, away from her with a sort of fright, maybe she had finally different view, maybe she had finally seen that for she had shaped it, making up much more than itself, staggering, lost, drowned in alcohol-and nights. She had, since they knew each other, strangely blondi, thinner, until it becomes a form of evanescence, light, almost insubstantial, as if every moment of her heels too high she could stumble and dissolve she lost her coat, her shoes, her bags, she came home it without knowing how, she did not remember anything. She had become, since they knew by his own fault, therefore, a lightness untenable, dangerous.
Maybe she was forced to admit that night, or another, the following nights, at some point he had to go obviously, it was transformed. And it probably was not fully their fault, she was trained, she was driven there with her until he is no longer conceivable to renounce really to abstract nights when they laughed all eyes capsized.
Maybe that night Was it too late already, the very idea of kissing her, as having even more, sealing, somehow, his grip on her, give her body further, she had never thought of before, think for a moment was probably already do, some nights later, she had forgotten the idea fleeting desire even full ownership, almost violent, and no return - it was make her his work, his body image. It was the dispossession of no return. And probably a few nights later she had forgotten to embrace the idea, but that away also, no doubt she had forgotten that this could be their image, inconsequential - perhaps she had, at that moment, forgot herself, lost somewhere, the night was already too late - and then it was too later, traces of lipstick on his face, his hair disheveled, she had said things she did not understand, she had kissed her again, it was almost as if she kissed her same.

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rain

- And if you can not?

- You can not not be able to ...

- And if I can not?

He noted the panic in her voice, her questions in his eyes - as if it was only panic, hugging his body and he can not help but be annoyed. He knows she is aware, and she lets them go anyway before him - she called to let them go, for he feels his eyes glaring upon him, overwhelmed with a kind of feverish nervousness - and he wants it known that it moved, especially with the summer already moved, the torpor of summer, the street deserted and their table in the sun .

- if I can not - I think I really can not. I wanted to tell you about it because you're the alone - I mean, I could not talk to others, to someone else.

She annoys, and saw his eyes dilate still facing this annoyance, as if she lived on them to increase the nervousness in his eyes, his voice. He would tell her she talks too much, that's enough. He already sees his face close to a coup, his features harden like a statue. He is silent. He feels it is listened, she does not need him as a necessary presence to listening to herself.

- I know you think I am privileged . This is not the issue. I'm not complaining. I'm just saying I can not, I ask you, if you've never thought that it was possible not to.

He said that it expected to debit, as a monotonous voice on a recording repeatedly rehashed the same reassurance. You have all , you have no reason to ... but she interrupts him. She interrupts him to say nothing. She has the body stuck in the heat, she feels she can never get up, it froze on the chair and its members to become heavier every moment more. She feels trapped. She would say she choked - he feels she is choking, it is perhaps not really choking, but a kind of inertia that swells inside her body, slows his every move, making them painful. She would tell him about the time of the summer: a mass flaccid, flimsy, in which it is allowed to flow gradually, until the days and nights confused,-until such time as s abolishes its own slow pace, she feels in her body as a syrupy liquid and very sweet, he distends his flesh, she would tell her, she begins to feel old , yes it is strange, it is very young, but too many memories s'ammasent it now, scattered confusing, too many dead things without consistency, to drag on and on, she had never before been longing, never want to go back or rather not continue to go forward, go-to. And now there was no doubt that this time informed, she expected nothing, she was not used, not to wait, not wanting to wait, but out of time was the day after nothing, nothing -


She does not know why she talk about anything else - it feels very good that it should not, there will be waterproof, as it is waterproof, or rather annoyed She sees very distinctly, by panic welling in his voice, which emanates from his skin like sweat indecent.


She said, I have grand memories. I remember a rainstorm as if it was the ocean. It was far and summer. I've never been soaked like that, it was not to be quenched, it was something else, it was surrender to the rain, like it or not, become one with the rain, I had the impression of not having clothes, almost no longer have a body, or rather my body, the water fell, and fell again, and at night. I would be swept away, and sink would be like a shipwreck, it was very violent, and I could not help it, I guess it was beautiful. I guess I've never felt anything so violent possession of my body - it was a total rainfall, absolute. I eventually want to go anyway, I had no choice, I crossed the city on foot there, it was long, the streets were deserted. When I arrived I found that my street was gone. The street was under water. The street had become a bottomless lake. You can not imagine. Night. And this slick black water, which extended again and again, the ocean was still raining. Oh, you can not imagine. It was not real . When I saw the flooded street, I knew I could not go - I could not immerse myself in this black layer, in this unreality. I had not the courage. If you could understand ... I had not the courage. And then I saw that there was a man in the water, he swam and he laughed - it was a man there, a man from the rain I guess she does not frighten him as it scared me - it was perhaps no fear, something beyond. He saw me. He came to me and it was great, the water reached her waist. He told me something I did not understand, I do not speak the language there. Then he took me in his arms and he took me across the River. I was scared and I was reassured, too, was difficult to define. I was glued to his shirtless and wet as a fragment of unreality that had suddenly taken shape. He dropped me at the door of the house. He wanted to kiss me. I did not, I had no desire. He laughed. He tried several times, I struggled, and then I stopped debating, and I let him kiss me. He had a taste of alcohol and rain. I laughed. He told me things I did not understand. He kissed me again. It was like the embrace of the rain yet. And then he went back into the stream.



You see, it's the same thing. I could not. I could not. Had there not been someone to take me in his arms and carry me across the river, carry me. I was afraid of being too heavy, from one moment to another, could bend his arm, he would have given up-but it did not seem to notice any weight to He danced in the rain, with my body in his arms, he turned, he laughed.

the same way a little, I can not. I have not the courage. I have the courage to nothing.



He looks at her, she feels he is thwarted, much more.
He said, - but see, you're adult. She puts
his dark glasses. Yes, of course.

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The Rediscovered

Because it was not easy to come back. She knew she would not. That is already starting the impossibility of return, and the lack of desire, - never to return, to avoid returning to the visibility of the return. She stayed a few days locked up as if she had not returned. Folded in his deformed body, moreover, that it does not escape out of it, not right now, for the keep a little tucked in her
- it would be like a child without birth. She knew from
was already never to return. There was this desire in her to disappear, and nobody would know. It would not be somehow or it would be very far without anything that precedes it, without the pictures hanging behind her, stuck to it, a cloud that wraps up another make.

He said it is part time. By dint of being part perhaps he would not have forgotten, but the lack of it would have been almost forgotten, something close to oblivion. It

knew he had not missed much, to see him again, until they saw that nothing had changed perhaps after a long absence, and increasingly confident that it would be more for her, the distance of absence, and sometimes evenings spent together, let alone to drown, to forget that they had talked a lot before, they were able to forget about. She said she thought they had lost, she thought it was too late, too much silence, he had vanished into silence, cut off somewhere where it was no more, where she thought nothing more, he disappeared before she left turn with the desire never to return, she thought he had disappeared because it was done in a way, it became another, a stranger to her, foreign to him who had loved her very much, like a brother or others, in a way that would belong to them, which would not have a name for itself really.

Seven o'clock, you realize, that speaks to the cafe, and it seems scarcely an hour passed.

She smiled a little, she did not realize either, seven hours, talking in a cafe in this city full of familiarity ad nauseam, seven hours, sat beside him, his smell, his cigarette that spreads over her, she almost wanted to cry, to indulge in his arms, it's like They never had stopped.

She came in believing it hurt her a little more, she would say nothing, he would not know she was injured, she realizes now that he would have known, that the knew too much not to know, he was the only likely understand his silence, to understand the silence of distance, the silence of the injury, and other silences still, the silence of his wishes, when the silence it was a bit happy when they did not need to speak to say.

Later we will marry. I know you can not be anything but alone. You will be alone, and then we will marry.

She smiled a little again, as there are remnants of distance, a strange persistence of absence for too long, something that caught her, gently, it felt like crying, no sadness, it is the familiarity of his face , washed his face which made foreign and distant-found-her face.

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wound

He said, I would not want to talk about it now. Not here, we are far, everything from that too, I'll tell you another time, it would be a shame.
She insists she takes a cigarette disgust, with the sun, the silence on the terrace, as if to empty them, palms, water fountains.
He said, we started to not talk about it, because here it does not count, it's beautiful here, we feel good, there's nothing more to say.
She pulls nervously on cigarettes, sunglasses that hide his face, his eyes panicked, she feels his gaze panic. She insists.
He said, look, you see that you've changed. Even physically. People do not recognize you. Your friends do not recognize you. You were not like that when I met you. These
time on the street when we were together, and that your friends do not even stopped because they did not recognize you, they did not realize it was you - and you who edges and the ones who are surprised that you say, but I hardly recognized.
It's as if you were different people, that you were different people, and I can not make the connection between them, to pass from one to another, as fast as you do, that you trade your identity, your body, your desires.
She tears that flow back to his stomach hurt, and dark glasses who flee the light, she drinks too much tea sweet, it still burns, the taste of sugar in his mouth. She said nothing.
He said, I do not know is stifling in the end, it is unbearable. You talk, you say everything all the time, and it does not mean anything anymore, you probably say to everyone, and it is stifling the flow of words, those things you kidding in your words, and which mean nothing, it still needs to talk, and expect no response, say your life as if it was a spectacle - and I do not know, it's as if you had become very superficial. All these clothes, these evenings, these people, this perpetual flight, this need to be loved by all world, suck the love of others, their fascination, their distaste for you, without ever being satisfied. It's unbearable.
He looks at her, she feels that her hard face, his glasses, his eyes, waiting for her to say something, she cries, she gets mad, she gets up and perhaps it back to the hotel, she returned to P. - she said nothing. He probably even more afraid of her silence, she injured her desire to sink into silence until it disappeared.
Her hands shaking, he did not realize it, he can always say it's the cigarette, she smokes long gone - but he will not notice anything.
He said, you see that I could not tell you about it, without your being hurt, I did not want to hurt you, but I do not see otherwise.
All those people who love to hate you so much, all these people who hate you, that you are aloof, conceited, contemptuous, it is not normal you know. It's unbearable.
She crushes his cigarette. He takes her hand, she has a steady hand despite the heat and ice - he is relieved to feel his hand in his, to see that she's abandoned him, he pressed gently.
She removes her glasses and is relieved she has the look clear and calm.
I'm not hurt.
He said, I do not think you would react like that. I'm really relieved. Now everything's fine, everything will be fine. I do not want to spoil this trip. I'm glad to see that this is not the case. I really love you, you know, that's why.
She smiled.
Do not worry, I'm not hurt.

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The Adventures of Long-Brick earthworms Season 1 - Episode 4

The underground or the murmur of life.

Where the springs, volcanoes, where they took refuge when the surface spreads in tragic mediocrity, the ultimate guardian of heat, the path to the center of the earth, which is called gravity.

The underground.

The underground and his universe, so feared, but plowed bled a thousand times betrayed.

The underground was in effect underground.

Long-Brick earthworms had the universal consciousness of the man who built his roots without finding land that shelters them.

It was light and serious, smooth and durable.

Especially smoking and it was currently lacking.

is why he had no remorse when the warm breath and deaf of the explosion carried the street that housed the local offices of the Socialist Party and some of his councilors busy thinking social smoking cigars.

He thought he was dreaming especially butt to grill for his conscientious work had been settled long ago.

outdoors Bankers stoned crawled singing to entertain the dog. Falsely repentant traders roamed the streets singing hymns Keynesians. Their turn would come

whatever they do.

We played marbles with caviar and life always ended up dying innocents.

It was therefore dealing with bastards. It was, if you think about it, Finally, a job most gratifying.

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Café

She calls and he does not respond. She does not understand why she wants them to see themselves, they take a coffee together, they are friends. At first she did not wonder why he does not respond, and then she said that perhaps this is not so easy for him to drink coffee with her, be her friend now. She continues to call and one day he meets. It's almost too late already, or it will be soon, for coffee, she likes the time of closure, it remains alone on the terrace, all the tables around deserted her, and silent street, and the lights on the vacuum. She drinks a last coffee with eyes lost. She calls him and he finally answered. They will be the next day. He guesses that she is still in a cafe, there to be only a little at the time of closing. She feels he would blame him almost to be again, to sleep so late so soon.
They see the next day, already the night in a cafe. She wonders how long does it match, how long she has not seen, she does not know really.
He did not see her, he knew it was a bad idea to see her in a cafe, like all these pictures of her that he still sees too long from now, his hair very black and body almost disappeared, suddenly, it was this body of death like its predecessor, and his eyes still lost somewhere when it arrives, it is always already there, sitting in a cafe, with night. He knew he would not answer him, see - that this is not the same, to see really, and he could not. Just sitting in front of it he has his eyes on the black face, his eyes that burn and print, still, she looks at him without seeing him, she looks like a vacuum around it, and he said he would never accept the view, to see that she is still there, very black hair, the body almost disappeared. He does not know if it's panic, desire - the malaise that grips each time and its violent body, he hoped it would not be the case this time he did seen for a long time, - And perhaps it was precisely because of that, because he had almost forgotten what it was to see her. He feels his throat, his stomach is tied and he knows it is now inevitable, that is, throughout his body, blocked, he can not do anything about it or understand it a little - in a moment, he knows he will have to say, excuse me a moment and he'll get up, calmly, trying to look calm, walk slowly towards the toilet, as someone who simply go to the toilet, and then, when there will be more on him, his look, to rush, and he knows he will vomit again, vomit, vomit his desire her, her discomfort with her-as if it was something that his body could not stand, could not extirpate, and he had to go again, every time, every coffee to be friends now It was endless.
She looks and she says it's funny, he finally responded, it's a good thing can have a coffee, to be friends, talk a little, after all this time without answer, try again for a coffee. She smiled vaguely, or maybe she forgets to smile, she says that now he will answer no doubt they will more often it does not why they stopped seeing each other, to cafes, to be friends.
He said, excuse me a moment. She looks at who gets up quietly, it just goes to the bathroom.

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Summertime ***

NY She dreams of a return to NY, this summer would be back - she dream that they go together, probably close to last, its incessant returns to NY, and the body multiplied and wanderers, children, when it was too small, almost, to really see, and then later, too often, as if going to NY again and again there was a way to give a picture of it. She remembers the hotels and frozen mirrors in the elevator who captured a bit and windows on Broadway and the sensation of being for herself elsewhere. Soho and Tribeca. Afterwards, she does not know. It was also still out of the summer, outside of herself, too, so that she could remember, she has only a few images, fragmented, and it still feels cold, she had the next time, bitterly cold, there was an apartment, and Battery Park, and the black water, or perhaps it was yet another time. She does not remember his absent body, she would remember, this lack of body, that body which the absent to itself, and it was so cold. It seems it had snowed a little. It is as if there were in NY with her whenever absence, strength to go back, unload it from a still image in the mirror lifts, in the screens, it does not recognize them, they said, it looks a little Mona Lisa, she looked a little sad perhaps, and they had to believe it was something else - it was probably something else . What she remembers best is probably the last summer in NY, but she does not know very well, either - the moist room and sleeping bodies and the heat of the city, and then return, again, alone, and the heat faded, and the hotel Central Park, and she drank only white wine on the terrace, the white dress, her bleeding feet. There was the burn on his shoulder, the sun stuck in his shoulder, bruising to his skin, NY and now in the rain as if it was for her. She did more than just dresses this summer, probably due to yet another body, she took him to NY to relieve himself once again, abandoned in the hotel Glossy Again, only it was the first time, she was also alone in NY, or just somewhere-maybe. She remembers that mirrors reflected the images that they still did not recognize, and tenderness, almost, for the past images, left to NY, without which she could recover. She remembers his return to Paris after that summer, last summer, and the feeling that it was irreversible, NY that was etched into his body, like a secret, she was afraid that it will eventually go too. It was gone very quickly, and without even noticing it, she could not know that that summer was last summer, it was, somehow, the end.

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Summer Time **

It burned the back of a sun that it ignores it did not see it, and then she no longer spoke, she let go of his skin burned fingers, and said nothing. He wanted her to say something. Her skin still on her fingers a little, as the sun is too strong to be detached from her, that sun which he knows nothing, and she still wears on his body. He wished she speaks again, she did not leave his hand burned his skin - he imagines bent under the sun there until collapsing on the ground, up 'to be, from one side, marked, and it's as if she could not really be his. He wonders if she has ever been it really, if there was not even before, when she was very white skin almost transparent, the sun somewhere. Maybe she had, somehow, you advance, with the streets too colorful and the smell of alcohol and the sea with skin from his fingers and his nearly naked body him and the night, he feels that he will never know. Maybe she had always belonged to the sun that burns at any time, through clothing almost that grabs undivided. It feels to feel something ice to his head and almost a detonation. She spoke of gunfire in the distance near the sea She said it was a vast sea, I have never seen a sea like this endlessly. Everywhere there was the sea she would speak again before leaving. He told her he wanted her to stop, to leave. He said because he knows she will leave anyway, despite the gunfire, and burns on his back, red spots that devour him back like a skin disease. He only knows it in her waiting to go again, she would tell her, she will return, but he knows she can not say that it can be restored only by chance, somehow by passing. It's as if she needed to live was always, she lived only summer everywhere. He said even before he had just not realizing it, believing it was only a form of recklessness, he remembers his very pale skin and her bright red lipstick, she spent his time doing nothing, he thought she was pretending. It was summer already, except that it was not realized it. This time it was stuck, and heavy, and the sun maybe. He knows very well. He wants her to tell her if she was pretending, doing nothing, apart from again. Had she lived another thing that was. He also said he would like, she parte do more, or maybe he just thinks hard, and he is reviewing, in airports, train stations, leaving, never looking back, never see, from watching, and waiting already.

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Summer Time *

There's this song in the subway she did not expect to hear, or otherwise, so is the song of years buried, and that she had forgotten, almost, of a summer too Hot and hear it again feels the body in which it becomes entangled, body-heat, as if it was new that summer, there had been nothing, yet, then that everything was still, again maybe. It's the same deserted street on her window and probably the same desire. She left the body behind it. In the song may be somewhat unwittingly, she had listened too while and then never again, or once before and she remembers the voice that sang and later a face, but it ' was something else.

ago who said: I am twenty years and I feel I have more past than future and yet I do not think I've lived a lot. Do not thank me to cheer you up.

ago who said, you can take Xanax if you're depressed sometimes instead of traveling. Is not a joke. Do not get me wrong. This is not what I meant. But it does not hurt Xanax in low doses, it's just because people abuse them that there are orders. Ok forget I could not tell you about this.
He has a clear pocket inside his room and white pill, Stilnox Xanax Prozac is written in tiny, she looks for a moment the clear pocket without saying anything, he said nothing either, and she has a fear little.

ago who said, it's normal that you feel guilty, you need it because you have no problems. Your life is perfect. You're lucky. You know you're in luck. I also feel guilty in these cases. I mean, because it is as if there was a problem when there is no problem. Finally you see. Try to rationalize it.

There is this song on the subway she did not expect to hear, or otherwise then, again without the summer so far, so far that it's almost anyone else, almost before First, before it all starts - she did not know it yet, so it was only the beginning, it would leave behind her body swollen with heat and expectation, that expectation hung irrelevant, it would maintain a perfect life, it would be so lucky.

ago who told him: you're twenty years, you are idealistic, this is normal and he looks dead eyes already. He looks like he knew everything about her already, he knows nothing yet, he wants nothing to do. You do not know what you want to do, and he laughs. You are so lucky.

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At noon

They will have lunch in the restaurant she likes.
chief embraces room, he told her she did not come for a long time, she replies with a slight smile, the end of the summer without a doubt, this is not so long, it takes her coat and led to their table and asked of him, she said, oh, okay, she talks a bit more with the same smile.
He could not say why he is embarrassed, a little, she has taken there, he feels the looks that linger on it, on them, they are very young, no doubt, and they are almost looks that accuse them of this youth, slight smile still on his face. She orders an appetizer, the server kisses, sorry it did not come, long time.
He says she looks happy, or perhaps just very calm, she looks out the river and the sky so blue, she said it's like there, the winters are very cold but with that sky there, very cold weather like this blue is rather rare here, you're lucky for being here now. The coming days it is not known, it will probably be as before, if we no longer distinguish gray sky cobblestones. We do not know if it is morning or evening already.
He looks at the card, he looks at her, she seems to have chosen already, he tries to choose, but he feels that it's almost indecent, the card, the restaurant, he said with a chuckle , it's weird to eat here, I mean, with the crisis, and everything, finally, if you think, by contrast, I mean, she said oh, with a look a little upset, or very loose, it do not know, he would not say that, anyway, he immediately regretted having said so, but this is casually that ails,-as if she was, somehow, out of reach, and he says it is, really, out of reach. She drinks
always looking outside, as in alcohol consumption sweet, in the light. He remembers a few months earlier, his haggard face, without makeup, she wore a shapeless thing, it seemed there to be severed, the body-inflated like a wound. Then she wept, she began to cry, suddenly, silently, it meant nothing, he insisted she speaks, but she did not. He was so destitute that he would not feel able to be more so, if this is now, He does not understand.
When inputs arrive, he asks if they are celebrating something, so this meal is not an opportunity for something-which escapes him, but that he did not say she ordered the foie gras Gingerbread with a macaroon with fig emulsion something a compote of other things, she said, I do not see why we need to celebrate something.
She wears a black dress-and slightly tanned skin, he does not understand that it can be, with the winter, he feels it is again in the summer, with more distance Perhaps even his body very thin, almost fragile, as relieved of any trace of previous months,-as if nothing had ever happened. She probably has hair shorter, clearer, he does not know very well, they frame, smooth, his face, bathed in a kind of cold light, almost unbearable.
At some point, he noticed his shoes, and he developed malaise, almost panic - clearly it had not yet this morning when he was home, they probably bought them meantime. He does not understand, she has already bought another pair of baby something he thought yesterday or so before yesterday, at the latest, he does not understand why she needed to buy today, and it frightens him vaguely, even if he tries to argue, there is nothing to be scared, amused, perhaps, or when surprised, but can not. He felt that he understood why she had bought shoes yet, he would understand why it had taken him there, why she was crying the last time he saw her, why she was so emotionless now, as if nothing had ever happened.
He said it was sad to leave soon, she says it's not worth it, there is this icy sun outside these winter days with the sun, he is this lunch in this restaurant, it is now, and until we do not know. You can never know, so it's not worth it.
They eat slowly, it would engulf everything, so it's over, absorbed, whether it is safe at least, there is nothing after, but he eats it slowly, as if they never gonna leave this restaurant, this time, this city together. He already sees that insists on paying the bill, and he who refuses, who is terrified at the note, she still insists, paying or not paying, and then embrace that may or did 'embraces not, with a slight smile, and goes. He is further away the river ice with the sun in her hair.
He asks, why you like that, he can not help it, she said that as how he insists, like that. She has a slight smile, he feels, in that smile, to have lost already, he asked again, his face clear his hair so thin that his body broken and his eyes almost laughing at times with light inside, he says he lost, again, it always has been, for him, lost.
She said, oh you know. I stopped being depressed, it bored me.

Gold Tech Deck Trucks

Schlafenlos

It was long since she had not slept because of too many words too many pictures it was not lack of sleep washed in white pills, a week perhaps, with the summer, and the need to impose on his body sleep , to take time to herself, to which he was devouring the stomach, and it can not escape it for a moment, then she took the white pill and she waited, that whiteness is distilled in his body, numbness, into oblivion. So we had stolen sleep, the ability to sleep, to surrender - the night was nestled under his eyes, his body slumped in the flickering of the day without night. She was so tired it could be just the fatigue, if there were still coming days - if he had not yet taken a little, it will soon end, and yet it seemed it could not finish.
Long after, weeks, months probably, she could not realize it was over, she repeated, do, you do not realize she was asleep again yet, but she dreamed of days without night, days without end. She threw out all the white pills, or maybe she kept near her bed, without having to, because she no longer needed. She remembers the days before the outset, it was summer days, summer had long since begun, without it, the days were inert, where she waited, when there was nothing to wait, it was over already . She remembers one evening they were drinking white wine in the garden outside, smoking cigarettes, it was a bit cold despite the summer, it must be night, and she did not know what she was doing there, they realized it all for free for most to know, or they knew it too long, and they had achieved even before it begins, and she was trying to do the same with white wine, cigarettes, and summer. She envied them a little. They seemed very happy together. It was not a sad desire, rather like being there, it was just part of their happiness and their recklessness, their upcoming summer. She wanted them to stay still on the terrace in the garden to drink white wine and seem happy. They were beautiful together, she found them beautiful because they were together, she could not imagine otherwise.
She remembers a missed departure, she had woken up in bed with a warm light, with the taste of summer in the mouth, and she realized she could go, for hours already, but it was not a party, she did not want to leave, and she felt that with Light and summer, his departure was missed that flooded her bed, her stomach, her throat, she felt in her-she aborted.
And then a few days later, then she was gone. She had to go, it meant finishing a little, although she still could not - it was long as the time the summer finally realize.

Prakticar B Mount To Nikon

New Year

- It's your wife?
- No.
He looked away, his frail figure and banging his heels, made her somehow more evanescent still, it was eaten at night, already. She stopped to light a cigarette, her legs were bare as in winter, and her blond hair streaming down her black coat, she had to get very cold. It looked like she was expecting, but it does not turn around.
No, what could he say to another, she was too young to be married, she would never be his wife, she would probably never be someone's wife, he could not imagine being the wife of - the man who asked the question had eyes alcohol it was as if it was apparent that this issue to exhale in one breath-
- It's a shame, I would have welcomed. She is very beautiful. From a distance I saw it already and she was very beautiful. I could not let her go like that and then it is very cold, you would not let her leave like that.
She had disappeared now, he even heard her heels, her body dancing on its heels, it was somewhere in the night, may have returned - he could remember, her, yet For a moment it was her dark eyes, she spoke almost without looking, and a moment, she looked up at him was like the dark liquid, like the night suddenly enveloped, seized him - under his cloak he guessed a dress so light it was almost his body now, she shuddered, her fingers blue, her hair blond and very clear as the night around her face-
- It's not often you see a beautiful woman, I do not know, I 'm shook a little, it does not look like someone you might imagine, is like an apparition, you see, and now I know she is somewhere and she is very beautiful. You would not let her go like that.
The man had probably been drinking heavily, he had a warm voice of his drinking, his eyes very bright, it did not seem to want to leave, as if expecting her to come back to tell him yet Once, she was very beautiful.
He did not answer. There was probably no answer. Despite the alcohol had seen the man as he himself had seen, and he understood. She did not drink again, she spoke in a voice very clear, it was like the silence, soft, reassuring, in the deserted street. And then she was gone, she could only leave again, it was this silhouette receding, dying in the night.
The man finally decided to go in turn.
- Happy New Year.
- Happy New Year.
He stood alone in the deserted street.