And now you walk toward me.
Lowering your body.
I look at your head from above.
As if you were waiting for an injury.
On all fours. Do you think
That this is how I dedicated my time to you?
Did I look like this?
This posture is burned into my brain.
My hands folded behind my back.
I can’t stomach the sound of your voice.
And you move like an unborn child.
I can feel you everywhere.
You are not looking.
You need to see that my projections have changed.
Not the ones I used to idealise you.
No, the ones revealing to you who I really am
And all the boundaries that accompany me.
“Lady with Flowers” by Paul César Helleu (1859-1927)