A heavy box of vinyl and crumpled letters thrown
carelessly, leavetaking on the floor.
Nothing remains but passion and craving words
everlasting, filling the atmosphere with
a thirst for human touch,
echoing in the air the need for
love.
The light fades.
The jilted lovers hold their breath.
Old stories tattooed inside their bodies are revealed.
“The sun disappears gently” she says to me
while we incline to melancholy.

Justine Duhayon