Getting Lost

Always presume indifference.

Last Tuesday, when I was near La Défense, I thought about how much I love the world of the city, this landscape of tower blocks, of lights and even cars – faceless, crowded places, the site of meetings and passions, past and present

Here, mention should be made of the constant interplay between love and the desire for clothes, insatiable, though I suspect futile with regard to desire in general. It was the same in ’84, when I continually bought skirts, jumpers, dresses, etc. never looking at the price – spending as if there were no tomorrow.

I don’t make love like a writer, that is, in a removed way, or while thinking, ‘I can use this in a book.’ I always make love as if it were the last time (and who’s to say it isn’t?), simply as a living being.

This need for a man is so terrible, so close to a desire for death, an annihilation of self, how long can it go on…

I know very well it’s best to plan slightly longer intervals between meetings. I am back in the ‘day-after’ state of disarray. I’m afraid of seeming clingy and old (clingy because old), and wonder if I shouldn’t play the separation card, double or nothing!

At one point, he said, ‘I’ll call you next week’ – in other words, ‘I don’t want to see you over the weekend.’ I smile – in other words, I accept

Desire not exhausted but continually renewed, with greater pain and power. I can no longer picture his face when he’s not here. Even when I’m with him, I see him differently from before. He has another face, so close, so irrefutable, like a double.

Later, I could not sleep, could not detach myself from his body, which remained inside me. That’s my whole drama, I’m unable to forget the other, to be autonomous. I soak up other people’s words and actions, my body absorbs the other body. It’s so difficult to work after a night like this.

How often have I waited, got ready, made myself ‘beautiful’ and welcoming, and then – nothing. It did not happen. And for me he’s so impenetrable, mysterious by necessity, and probably full of deceit