not what it used to be

Cravings. An urge for sentiments. To feel things. Lately it seems like I have been locked inside a closet, no communication either ways. I have been a plastic flower, a painting on the wall, a forgotten framed dead kept away on some dusty shelf somewhere in a room where no one ever goes. I tried wine, tried to smoke 11 cigarettes in a row, tried to bury myself under thousands of layers of silk, tried to read the classics - dream and fantasize about a world beyond mine. But nothing worked. It just left me with a pounding headache and no food in my body. An uncontrollable search for life and death. Questions constantly filling my head and mind. A need to know why and why and why. Is that the reward of this emotional anorexia? 

Troubled while the spring arrived

The sun is forcing life to be easier. That is what everyone says, right? As soon as the light is around, we will all manage. And if we don't, we can't blame it on the regular winter depression. On the other hand, the green tempt us to drown our sorrows as the cliches says during all the spare time we can find. That should make it easier. Well, I have to admit that the balcony is inviting us to live the life more often now than it did just a few weeks ago. But the question is, does it solve our problems? Does it really hurt less? I think I can still feel the heart pounding in my chest, still feel awkward et mal placée..

when was it... ever?

Watching the sun rise over the ceilings, golden shimmer all over town. No sleep needed, no eye lid heavy enough it seems. Can't blame the wine, the party, the music. It all ended hours ago. Like 28 hours ago. Still, no sleep, no rest. My head is heavy, but never heavy enough. Restless legs, half asleep, half dancing. Arms hurt, have been holding the same pose too long. Since.. was it yesterday? When did I move the last time? Time to get the morning paper I guess, I wonder if they have some from the last days left..

home is..

Back home. Felt an urgent need to be me. I left my french alter ego at the airport and with her, the smell of croissants, wine traces leading back to our front door, piles of champagne corks and the forehead kiss C gave me before walking out the door. I then called him and went over to his place, he was having a party tonight he explained. I thought, what place is better to be alive than in of those pictures.. Bodies moving to unheard lyrics, liquid levels shrinking outside, rising inside. Under control. I always carry around straws in my handbag.


Spent several hours staring in to the sun, next to his warm shadow, and when the sun fell asleep the candles continued to cause stains on my retinas..

last chance

it is cold. I am leaving. c forced my ankles to stay for an hour. too numb to feel the fire near my lips, too distracted to hear the screams. is this for real?


just like he sang - every gun you held went off, therefore I have to leave you know. meanwhile the others is counting your breaths, we were never enough..

paris says..

At a party. C is queen. In control, wearing silk, shimmering. All the girls wear clumsy wedges. Not a stiletto in sight. Where are we? Me, in control, in the corner, alone. Out on the floor - no control. 


A girl smokes golden cigarettes in the window sill. She painted them. I can see a little spot she missed, right next to her pinkie. That's right, she holds them between her pinkie and ring finger. 


A boy comes out from the kitchen with a silver tray. Foie gras and something that looks like flour. Does he want to brag? Does he live here? C walks up to him and says, with a british accent:
- That really looks like poop, referring to the foie gras. 
The boy looks offended. And so she is the center of attention. Who is the silk queen from far away? Poor boy.


Paris makes me scream. No need for the good-girl-charade. In the circle shaped room, in what corner can I hide? 

don't fucking tell me what to do

Paris is thrilling, noisy and forbidden. We have left the apartment and spent days and nights in the streets, bars, anonymous apartments et cetera.. C smiled twice yesterday, like really smiled. Inside out. Sincerely. It made me warm inside. Her family isn't too happy about having her running around like this - but she knows how to handle it. She might be thin as a stick but her mouth and fists can force anyone to do anything. Don't mess with the anorectics I learned yesterday..


Pont Mirabeau:
Breath regularly Aurélie, but small amounts of oxygen each time. Because they will make you pay for it. 


Few bottles of wine and suddenly she sees clear. You just have to love her.