Edita’s Reviews > Love Itself: In the Letter Box > Status Update

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.

[...] 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!