The more I listen to you sing, the more I forget what your voice sounds like.
I listen to the lyrics but I forget your words and your intonation.
I remember your figure as well as all your gestures.
I can still see your eyes and the shape of your lips.
I can still see your hands, I can feel them in mine.
I can feel your coarse skin.
I remember your shape but I forget the features of your face.
I remember the light but the smell and the heat are fading.
I can picture us sitting on the ground.
I remember the tea, the cast iron teapot.
I remember the plants and the music.
I remember the hot water which made us numb.
I remember the sky going by above our heads and making you dizzy.
I remember the nights, all the nights but I can't hear your voice anymore, nor can I read your words.
The poetry withers.
You live a life in which I can't enter.
I remember a dream which has existed, has just ended and seems to have taken place a hundred years ago.
Have I slept that long ?
I have many doubts.
You closed the door and I put an end to us.
I'm not trying to understand but I miss writing to you so I go on.
You'll never know how much you inspire me.
Now I invent you because you're gone. You're not here anymore, nor is your ghostly presence.
You're gone for good.
And I still don't know whether you were real.