“So I wrote to her. Letters I never sent. Letters I threw in the gutter or flashed away. - Like bottles into the sea? - Into an ocean of shit, maybe. No, it’s far more romantic. Picture it: a hermit, a cave-dweller, who lives in the sewers, discovers the letters. He collects them, reads them, then starts dreaming. Even envies that love, perhaps. I think I wrote a thousand letters, that time. I still remember that room in that little cottage. All of this is off the record of course. I could’ve written her a song instead. Ne Me Quitte Pas, something like that. Belgians speak slowly but they keep it simple. “Where are you?”, “What are you wearing?”, “What are you doing?” Those were questions I’d ask myself when I woke up. Thinking of her. And I’d go to bed…with the same questions.” L* Anyways .
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 15:44:36 +0000
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