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Locked in sleep

Modifié le : 2019/08/06

I slept most of the day, knocked out by a cold. I prob­a­bly dreamed a lot, because my sheets were, when I woke up, knead­ed and undone between my legs. How­ev­er, I have no rec­ol­lec­tion of it. Only the warmth of my skin could claim to have known volup­tuous and greedy seas.

Out­side, the storm, which accen­tu­at­ed the iso­la­tion effect. That’s it, that’s all. Tomor­row, it will be much bet­ter if I rely on the cold of my neigh­bor and friend (who obvi­ous­ly gen­er­ous­ly trans­mit­ted it to me).

Anoth­er friend, a doc­tor, of whom I lost track, told me that eighty per­cent of the dis­eases are psy­cho­so­mat­ic in ori­gin. I imme­di­ate­ly thought of the Parisian pub­lish­ing house­’s refusal. No mat­ter what you say, you write to be read, but above all to be loved. Most peo­ple are con­tent, and right­ly so, to be loved by their loved ones. I claim to be ask­ing for more. The big sin of pride. It’s also part of my sky chart. I suf­fer, oh how much I “suf­fer” (note the quo­ta­tion marks), from a neme­sis of love. I always have the feel­ing of being excluded.

Today, it’s like that, locked in my sleep, exclud­ed from life. I’m not in that much pain. I real­ly just have a big man cold.

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