To you, my dear friend
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France, planet Earth, December 31, 2023
Dearest,
It's the last day of the year and I'm nauseous. I'm Janus, torn between the past and the future, life and death intertwined in my head like balled-up paper thrown in the garbage can. I'm not ill, I'm seasick, balanced between these two worlds, totally in a panic about the path I've chosen, constantly standing at the rail of what I've been for so long and don't want to be anymore. I do not want to. I don't want to. wanting, wanting, and that phrase from I don't know who, which resonates: "wanting is easy, you just have to want it".
When I feel nauseous, I think there's a moment when I align my body with my will, because together we recognize that it's unbearable. I'm leaving you, not because I'm leaving where you are, but because I'm joining something infinitely more desirable and dangerous.
Ulysses was a sailor, I suppose he wasn't nauseous, but he had himself tied to a mast to resist the sirens' song. I'm living the exact opposite life, rushing full sail towards the sirens, needing all my attention, all my presence, to act on my desire. No, really, I'm nauseous and it will pass, I must leave you.
My dear friend, tell me how you are, where you are, where you want to live.
With love,