The lover of Thanatos

I love you beyond words. Faced with your beauty, they have no weight. Their meaning is anemic. No sentence, no group of words, no assembly of letters, whether it makes sense or not, can portray your charm without offending it. The language surrenders, it is of no use when I am near you. I abandoned it a long time ago.

We've spent our long romantic evenings without a single sound escaping from our mouths, except some groans that I can't control when my warm fingers caress your body. I close my eyes, and try to establish a mental topography of your body through my touch and the interpretation that my brain makes of it. I take into account every bump, every hollow, every hole, and I start over every night. At each evening, the relief changes. It's as if I discover a different country each time, when in reality, I'm still where I was before.

Every night, you seem more attractive to me. Your silhouette becomes more complex, almost indistinct. Asperities are more numerous, the color of your skin changes, the holes are wetter, your smell is more bewitching. My love for you is rooted in my skull, planting its claws inside my brain. I see, think and act only for you. Your enchanting voice haunts me and follows me wherever I go, whatever I'm doing. The solemn and restorative moments that we spend together, I wish they lasted an eternity.

During the day, your memory accompanies me to work. In the subway, everything around me disappears. I can only vaguely perceive a luminous maelstrom of small planets clashing at a considerable speed. The oar in which I’m sitting then becomes a wild ocean, the power of which is translated to my ears by a din of harmful magnitude. While this whole scene is playing in the background of my sightline, in a chaotic blur, you appear to me as in a dream. I see your face, a powerful mass of organic tissue, and I even forget the deafening roars of waves crashing against the windows of the train. 

Once arrived at the place where I am supposed to transform myself into an instrument of production, it's the same story that starts again. The ballet of manufacturing errors and poor workmanship starts joyously. Focusing becomes more difficult each day. The only thought that manages to sneak up to my central nervous system is the joy I will have to find you in the evening, until we rediscover our senses, once again.

Of course, my colleagues don't know anything about our story. I can only imagine their derogatory remarks if they learned the nature of our union. These bigotted imbeciles disgust me. They are really stuck in their traditions, as if their love of "moral values" kept them from thinking with their hearts. They do not know what interpersonal relationships are. In their eyes, the attachment that two people feel for each other must lead only to reproduction.

Really, my love, we are the martyrs of our time. I think I will never be totally happy. The sight of your naked body, as breathtaking as it is, will never take away the displeasure of having to talk to these robots, settled in their conventional and boring love affairs.

However, we can be stronger. Love can overcome hate and misunderstandings. You came to this world several decades before me, it is true, and it will surely take me several decades before I join you into the other world. In the meantime, I'm content with your relic, lying on a bed that witnesses forbidden behaviour every night. Don't you worry, my love, it's just a phase. We will soon be together, elated.

(2017)