Status Updates From Love Itself: In the Letter Box

Now all the years that come will be afters and never-agains.

I couldn't say to you I'm terribly afraid of losing the most precious thing in the world (1) that you have forgotten you gave me (2) that you perhaps never gave me (3) that I possess alone and in secret (4) that I enjoy thanks to your phantom, what if I said it to you [...]

I have a life with your Presence and a life with your Absence that is another kind of presence. Your second Presence, in other words your Presence-in-your-Absence, your spiritual Presence commands the greater part of my active life. In-your-absence, that is to say your Presence with me in me, inside me, the world is entirely spiritualized, animated, impregnated with thoughts, I could say haunted by you, overhaunted,

On the way out, you said to me: "Many a thing do gods achieve against our hope; that which we thought would be is not accomplished, while for the unexpected a god finds a way." A god breaks the way.

[...] there was too much power and too much powerlessness in front of the door, in the bedroom, in the hallway, time and its dust have changed them into pearls, could I imagine one day, I thought I was losing you and losing me, not losing you but that you would lose me, and of our chapter on earth there would remain a paltry tomb of tickets, there's the summed-up cadaver of a contemporary tragedy,

Putting names to pains and fears does not sew the wound.

Who was I? Who have I been, who have I ceased to be? And you, who are you, and no longer remember.

She finds peace in his poems: I mean: her peace. It's because everything has a name in his poems in particular what has no name in life, all the rendings, all the plasterings, all the unbelievable mendings. In the poems the pains do not hurt her.

My notebooks are full of dates. If I were to kill myself some day, all I would need to do is open one of these baskets, I would find there the eternally young ripe fresh manna, I would suck the sugar of one of our days and I would be taken suddenly from despair to a somewhat somber joy. We need dates to eat, food for the heart.

[...] what are you writing up there? I cry out: a kind of love story. She cries out: it's like the sea, it goes, it comes.

At night seeing time that passes in counted hours, seeing the end of the night coming and the end of time, seeing that I haven't written, that I haven't packed my bags, seeing that I didn't hear you that day, I cry out loud into the disarray of the house: help! at night especially for that's when I see time passing I bleed, I lose every minute, an awful bleeding of time that makes me yell:help!help!

My soul does everything it can to repair the irreparable.

I came "from the other side of the water," they said, but who made you judges that this side is here and that side is there? I would say. But I secretly preferred to be taken for a being from the other side with the truth on my side that they called madness and to leave on their side the usurpation become reasonable according to their illusion.

To hope also takes a toll. I hid my hoping, I went so far as to hide hope from myself.

[...] I ask nothing more of God than a very slight little tap, coming to answer yes to my question,

We are so small and the greatness is so great. [...] What is striking is the enormous force of weakness.

[...] all this time has a soul, we think, golden like us, unique, solitary, and burning, like us, we feel.

[...] the heart tired of redreamliving.

It's not our fault. It's stronger than we are, [...] we are in the darkness of the breast in no name.

Where to find it again? When? [...] Wait. If it's not in this dream, maybe in the next one.

I am nourished by your words, I can live for months around two words that you have chosen or not, quintessence, play with a verse found again every dawn when coming out of the other world, and which provides me with bread and the place setting of the soul, not forgetting that the soul is made from the finest of the body and when I say months it’s a matter of years.

What broke out suddenly was fire.We heard nothing coming. [...] I was afraid it was irreparable. I was afraid it was reparable.

I clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.

How different we are I thought: the same words say things otherwise to us.

[…] this moment resembling a dream and yet bearing a powerful reality.

Dense material.