i was at the middle of one letter but suddenly all change and
I guess I wasted time not feeling anything for so long .
Words that once come from my feelings.. . And now it is so hard to write again.
Or else my life has become so comfortable and It forgot to Warn me .
Comfort and poetry do not exist together.
do not exist together!!!
forgot to warn me!
I’m not happy but I’m a poet and I’ve never seen a happy poet, either.
They are always fighting great inner battles. Some dying, others being unhappy in love. Especially in love.
It takes so much efforts to be happy that I gave up. I can be happy just writing to you or about you.
I think happiness exists but it is not the desire to have something.
But have someone!
She is a being that is given to you or not.
Drink her in small sips or write when she arrives and if have lips around, kiss them. Push them against you. Enjoy the feelings.
You can lie too. All becomes true later with the pen and paper in hands.
Push them, push them out of you!
A body helps a lot and if you have it one close to you, use it.
Write, above and below your love. On the soles of the feet, on the palms of the hands, on the thighs. Ah! The thighs. They are soft and respond more quickly to inspiration. Listen to your heart . Do not forget to breathe slowly and then deepen.
At the last minute, in the last drop of sweat. Then yes … your poem will be ready before she flews away.
That is my way to be a poet and to love
My loneliness of which my soul is made feasts.
And i write !
There is something terribly wrong when I do not write.