I would say... It’s alright... She’s alright, she’ll come back, to gather around an improvised and unsuccessful bonfire at home. To lay down, flirt a little with the stars, discretely search for the constellations we’re always willing to find even if they just exist in a relative way, and discuss, I would say, every thought that dazzles in a instant of self-consciousness in either head of the witnesses, and slowly fades away, diffusing within the lightness of the green-ink smoke. Just a second, a single and profane instant of her presence, made me aware of the coziness of the second-hand long sweater I was wearing, of its sweet and spoiled smell. It made me conscious of the fact that it was me, my only and unmodifyable physical dimension, which filled the empty spaces, and carried me back to my mother’s womb.

Feelings, disguised as plain impressions, enter again my nervous system, the only qualified witness of my spiritual phase, and hunt me. Ghosts often appear in my dreams and chase me until I forcedly reach the place where I used to play with her as a child. They show me the speculative steps I made, repeat the words I spoke, and hinder my view with the red softness of her hair, heureusement dancing with the wind, shaping the sound of the shaken leaves in that deep nook of my brains where orange-colored experiences are stored.

Fine... boring enough, I know. But still, have I any other way of expressing, (and therefore, recover) the fraction of my soul that left with her? Have I any other alternative rather than this one to feel again the uprising of life she inspired in me, and still keep my feet fixed on this earth? Memories, painful, mysterious and nostalgic as they may appear, relief me.

I can believe there will be a future time when no harsh feelings will come attached to my memories, but I have learnt to stick to the present, and so, my present is the still alive flame of reassurance and joy that inhabited my soul when roller coasters were everywhere, and a well-known ice-cream provided me with bits of reality; the reality I no longer took refuge in, but which still pleased me. Jules.