oublié.

a cold wind passes through the branches of low trees, going to the horizon of the sea blurred by fog. a couple of birds are enveloped in serenity, taking in each new wave and fourteen birds are circling above us, watching from above the ships and the waves crashing on the gray rocks. in my hands are small gray stones that resemble a pale moon and a gray sky, and several shells, of different sizes and shades, which are covered with particles of cold, wet sand. i wander along the seashore, watching your footprints that you leave on the sand and examining the shells under my feet in the hope of finding one that will repeat the shade of your eyes. looking into the distance, i wonder: will this day remember our silhouettes? will the wind carry my words away? the birds, the sea, will they understand who fills my thoughts? and will you be able to stay with me and meet eyes in the next life? your locks of hair are scattered in the wind, and your gaze is lowered down in search of a white stone, among a pile of gray ones, which will make it possible to feel peace inside your chest. but not a single stone from this beach will make me feel the peace that i feel while i hold your hand in my hand, while you wander in my thoughts, while my heart beats at the same pace as yours. this stone doesn’t make a bit of sense while you’re next to me, and it also doesn’t make sense when you’re not around. and while we are alone on this beach, letting the north wind pass through our fingers and collecting stones and shells in our hands, i would like to tell you that my peace is you.

i swallow another handful of pills in the last few hours, feeling bitterness and a feeling of nausea below my ribs. red wine leaves a sweet taste in my mouth: a sweetness that leaves a feeling of calm, a slight desire to disappear and leave behind only a glass filled with dry red wine and a single drop of my blood. i watch the stars drown in darkness against the pale moon, the white moonlight illuminating my room, every corner, every picture on my wall and passing through my skin touching my bones, i am enveloped in the cold of january, the cold of winter, the cold of nostalgia. nostalgia gives birth to fruits inside me that do not exist, that have no reason to exist and have only a shell without the content inside. every day, every morning, every dream is filled with the past: lost warmth, departed people, eaten croissants and listened to songs, read books and lived but forgotten feelings for strangers. one day in february makes me think i'm back in november: the month where i was wrapped in the warmth of autumn, gazing at the sea and the waves where seagulls were peacefully falling asleep. gazing at pink sunsets and the moon rising above the horizon. examining shells and gray stones, jellyfish and seaweed. i wrote a ton of letters to one address in november, kissing the back of each page and sealing the envelopes with blood, but i didn't send a single one, just burned them in the fireplace on a sleepless night. as i finish the wine in my glass, i feel the emptiness in my whole body, in every tremor of my hands, in every heartbeat inside my chest. i want to wake up a free man — with my memory cut off, but i'm sure that tonight i'll stumble and fall into the abyss.

i finish my last glass of red french wine, watching the stars burn to ashes, leaving behind on the barely moving sea waves. matthiola bloomed in the moonlight, and a cold wind carried the smoke from my cigarette into the distance. i was enveloped in silence, enveloped in the cold of january days and thoughts of you. i saw your image in my head, in the fog in which i wandered endlessly during my sleepless nights. clear features of doubt and fear, covered in egoism — this is what i could tell about you. your blond curls, eyes that resembled a clear sky, laughter and a protruding tooth when you smile — remained vague in my memory. i could describe your character, your manner of communication, your experiences, your inner world, but i could easily make a mistake when it came to your shell. i take another sip, and later exhale the smoke from the cigarette. «you never loved me» — the words i uttered as i exhaled. who was i in your eyes? was i myself or someone else? but no matter how much you describe your feelings for me, i know that my name sounds like something else. i know that your feelings are empty, and i keep in my head the moments where you wrap your cold arms around my neck, calling me by another name.

the cold sea wind cuts through my flesh, making the blood in my heart cold. i watch the pale moon, the birds sleeping on the waves, three ships sinking into the darkness, and two ships leaving a gloomy light in place of their appearance. the last cigarette smolders in my hand, leaving behind ash and a slight feeling of calm that merges with dizziness and a slight trembling of my hands. while my head is not empty, looking at the sea and the stars reflected on the waves, i reflect on my feelings. if love is lechery and intimacy in every word, touch, and thought, then i have never loved in my life and felt this feeling inside my chest. everything i felt before is an empty feeling that has no name, meaning, or words that resonate with it; all my touches and kisses are just an insignificant imitation of lust. all the words that described my feelings and came out of my chest are just ashes in the memories of others, the same ashes that remain on the cold sand from a cigarette. the realization that i never touched love with my own hand, although it always seemed like i was drowning in it, like in the sea, as if merging into one, disappearing into the void. the cold wind carries the ashes of my cigarette into the darkness, and in silence i leave the shore.

a sleepless night, i put a few more pills under my tongue and make the cigarette burn out in the cold winter wind. the night sky seems empty, as if i'm am continuously looking staring into an abyss, which later looks at me. i force the ashes to fall and scatter in the wind, i force my hands to tremble from the cold that pierces my body, i force myself to disperse my thoughts and make myself empty. the city is shrouded in darkness, but soon it will burn with the sun's flames, the birds will begin to fly, burning their wings completely, and sleepy eyes will peer through the windows. this repeats every morning: i know which branch will fall first because of the birds, i know in which window the curtains will be adjusted, and in which the light will come on, i know how the sun rises, i know where the moon goes, and i know that every sleepless night I will see you. every shadow bears your image, the face of a stranger is identical to yours, every voice is consonant with yours, i skip the words that resonate with you, so as not to see you before me. i greet death in my arms with the desire to end the torment, but death looks through your eyes, embraces with your arms and smiles, making me tremble. i fall exhausted onto my bed, closing my eyelids, in the hope of forgetting your appearance and forgetting your name, i keep a cold knife nearby to plunge it into you if you stand nearby. i am filled with dependence and a feeling of hatred, because you are completely empty, so that i can see love in myself.