your glorious indifference

darling

take me to the place you hide.
take me to the place where you felt peace when it was dark, where you keep your secrets the same way you keep sorrows between your bones.
take me to the place where thunder and lightning don't reach; where you keep your happy memories from when you were small, the soft words people told you, the good things, the best laughs.
tell me about the things you carry inside, share with me your existential crisis, tell me which Hemingway poem makes you cry the most.

darling, leave the whiskey in the bar and the deceptive loves of novels at home. bring with you the tenderness, the candour and softness. there's French wine in the cabinet, sit, let's chat for awhile.
tell me, are you scared of death?
you say every beautiful thing without even having to open your mouth.

alright, fuck the sublime.
let me read you like those books that are devoured in some few hours and i swear to you that i'll make you believe in something beautiful once again.
you tell me about your fears and they are fragile and decadent just like the melody never composed by Bach and you find entertainment amongst all your affliction.
peculiarly you, who has always been more Monet than Edvard Munch, more literature than cinema, more Leibniz than Schopenhauer.

life is a fucking ravenous word, darling.
pray to your gods, to your idols; swim in the river that disembogues in you, live as if you were in the Elysian Fields.
let down your guard. open the gates. do not cause metaphorical
tsunamis.
if you want, take me straight to hell with your smile of clever juvenility so we can wander (while i hold your hand) and burn in this magnificent, truculent blaze.
look me in the eyes with your big and discerning eyes, as devastating as the tide that drowns ships before they even arrive to the margin and tell me that you haven't lost your faith.
make me feel the tenderness.
show me the way you bring the sun to its knees.