I'm there and I'm not. Something awful. Something lost. The scratches and the bruises that we shared. I love and I don't. I'm lost and i'm not. I am and I disappear. And stuff get in the way. Old organs from the deep. Fresh desires of the light. And I lurk around doing my best to top the others, the clowns and priests alike.
je suis là sans y être vraiment. près du dégoût, près des cicatrices. celles que nous partageons et que j'aime sans aimer. je suis là et je disparais, sans savoir si je me perds dans le processus. depuis longtemps j'ai abandonné les vieux organes pour embrasser la lumière, mai
When she met him, he had a ring around his finger that he never took off. When she realized it was etched into his skin, ink as permanent as his existence, she asked if he was married. He laughed.
The ink said "Helen," woven into a ring by his knuckle, and he told that Helen was the love of his life. She wanted to be jealous, she wanted to feel resentful, but he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair while he told her the story of Helen, Queen of Mycenaean Sparta, and a love so fierce that Paris fought a war to keep her.
"So many things in life are mediocre," he told her while her fingers traced the tattoo. "Helen reminds me that lov