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It is the abashment of not having
the comfort of others’ presence that glorifies a passive glance, at times more comforting than spatial abundance of Nothingness. Daydreams of a warm laughter, a soft collision. Bodies transcending gently, navigating in a sea of claustrophobic intimacy. We long for more and more, greedy, needy, human, real. A necessity to abandon loneliness, an obligation to bleed. It is not tenderness we seek, it is a fight for survival. Contingencies – they determine everything. Tender, friable, soft, desperate. Fight for love, except it is not love; it is desire. Boredom, lassitude, masochism, a primitive yearning to feel. |
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