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.