Ce N'est Que Moi

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable.

It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.


You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you.
They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.

Love takes hostages. It gets inside you.

It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.

It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind.
It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.

I hate love.”

Neil Gaiman

SENSATION 14

Dimanche Soir. Quai de métropolitain. Sous-terrain et déserté.
Une rose pourpre.

A l'incarnat cérémonieux, ourlé du velours bleuté des apparats de la nuit.
Pétales veinés, denses et profonds. Charnus.

Invitante et dangereuse.
Végétale cannibale.
Sève. Sang.

Tige longue, nue. Sans aucune épine.
Animal dompté, à la sauvagerie trafiquée pour le service des hommes.
Félin génétiquement dégriffé.

Fleur de déclaration, de genou en terre et de gants couleur beurre frais.
Qui dissimule, mais qui s'offre.
Un don qui est demande, appel.
Exigence de réponse.

Fleur de grands sentiments.

Lui.
Chevaleresque et transi. Glacé d'attente.
Eperdu. Perdu.

A terre sur le ballast.
A deux doigts des rails.
"Parler d'amour au bord du gouffre".

ViV