i am a beautiful and fucking ugly thing

dear inconnu,

I write this in French because I do not want you to read this.
Only because there is nothing here but words and thoughts and wishes.
There are somedays I hear you when you speak to him through the pillow and
you tell him all you want to do is scream and kiss and touch and fuck and become him
because all you know how to do is mimic. You want to burn as his brilliant sun and know
that without you he is as dark and desolate a continent as I.


I really am quite sorry for everything that has happen when love is not enough
and you are unsure if you are the bare walls running forward and backwards
and crashing into yourself or the floors that no one cares about or just nothing.
Nothing. And it can’t matter if you shatter you collarbone and are stuck in a moment
when you feel like dying. When you can hear his whisper across the miles and you want
to speak but you can’t because you all the languages of the worlds could be intimate
to your tongue, but there would never be any words.


And there would never be any words.

- except from dear inconnu, translated from french.

© Adrieline Provana