Montreal of asperities and languors. However, the definitive spring is hoped for. Your myopia corrupts your vision. The people you meet in the street kiss you with their voices. A bird reminds you to dream. A cat encourages you to continue to be alive.
A rainy day, yet your sunglasses. We think you’re playing the star, but you’re playing “don’t look at my sadness”. A book of personal growth to have other voices than yours in your head. Yours says: in destruction I exist. The pandemic has confined you to yourself. The house you tried to build only stood on a rock that couldn’t speak. A meeting with yourself. You step back. “This reflection is fiercer than I thought. He passes in the street. “Hey, this girl is so sullen it looks like her brownie is going to cry. »
You owe yourself the sweetness. Enough, all these years of crying. The times you just get out of bed and crawl back into it are also legitimate. How to resocialize after time has been frozen since 2020? You tell the barista: the heart is a voluntary muscle, it takes on its color when you decide to love. He hands you your chai latte and you pay the bill. Maybe one day you will continue the discussion; the full-cheeked squirrel seems to encourage you to keep having times when you would like to change the world.
It’s so exhausting to walk inside, why not walk in this city you barely know? He is in front of you, showing you how to love the world. Your hope rests on the bones of your utopia, the walk becomes more peaceful. You say to yourself: “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m coming. I’m here, at least. I survived another day. And I’m going to split the city with my unprecedented enthusiasm. And if I fail today, I will start again tomorrow, with greater stubbornness. One day the slats will fit on the house. Nails will be hammered and laughter will bloom. »
You are not all synapses and traumas, hormones secreted in the dark, flight and deregulation. How many cities ferment in you without you noticing anything? How many boulevards do you have to walk? How many showers at the end of the howl? A fire teaches you the language of the beginning.
Before the smile, the minerality of your dream. A warm and continuous breath like the omen of a fifth season. The only beauty today will be that ray of light stinging the froth of your latte through the cafe window where winter never ends being winter.
You think of those many years in your laboratory where you tried formulas to synthesize happiness so that it remained in you, immutable, like a faithful dog. You thought the men you met had the recipe. You only had to climb their bodies and you could reach their hearts. Confused, you wondered “but who lives here? “. The echo of your voice brought you back to your absence. You would come home stretched out like seaweed, wait for the next tide and try again. The swampy sadness engulfed any attempt at rescue. You were so afraid of being abandoned that you abandoned people. It was stronger than you. You have even come to push them to abandon you to materialize what does not exist. In that sense, you were an alchemist of fear.
Men didn’t have the answer, so you turned to the trees, their secrets and the coolness of their shade, you turned to the caress of the stones and the feline warmth. You have made the sweat that runs down your forehead a sweat that claims your right to live with all your might. This light which is born from the exhaustion of lies helps you to trace a new path. On the way, you will not prevent yourself from continuing to promise to love and to give thanks, not to give reason to the stagnation. Here you are in this town. Although your steps are voiceless, you advance.