XXLove letters

 

 

When everything was about Hunchback and the Count of Monte Cristo,

 

‘Shoes without people,

It must be a sad road,

A lonely journey,

It’s like a ship without a crew,

I ordered myself,

‘Enough daydreaming,

Enough being lazy and gentle,

Birds have been chirping,

‘Something exciting is waiting for you’,

They promised excitement to lure me out,

Suddenly I heard how insanely loud the alarm clock  had been ticking,

Shaking and stumbling the hands,

I had to forget smoking roll-ups aristocrats,

To trade them for Marlboro cigarettes,

Penniless artists, stray cats,

Street musicians and ambulance sirens,

I wasn’t invited to daylight,

I got mercilessly conned into crawling out of my burrow,

I hid the naphthalene verses in the least searched nook,

In my bohemian lair it was the safest place,

The worst version of any housewife’s horror,

I didn’t remember the last time I searched something there,

In my burrow a safe was under the bed,

It’s the same place the last time Julien looked for one of his socks,

Running away from morning sorrow,

After we had properly met,

I tried to look like a woman,

I drew an eyeliner and smeared the pink,

I put on a pair of stockings,

I closed the door behind me,

‘Take advantage of the key,

Don’t forget to lock the lock’,

Everything started moving fast-forward,

I enjoyed being myself as always late,

 ‘If I wasn’t myself but somebody else,

 I would enjoy a cup of coffee,

And a crepe at the Place du Tertre,

In thirty minutes I have to meet someone,

On the steps of   Sacre Coeur,

Never make clients wait,

I’d rather run than walk,

Go, go’,

I didn’t go to church to say one prayer or two,

I was sure a church didn’t help,

Also I didn’t trust well-rounded lips of prayers,

Since I was a kid,

I always knew what love and devotion were,

Hunchback on the roof of Notre Dame,

I wasn’t afraid of love when I was little,  

I looked around,

It was my Montmartre,

The place of the movies,

The magical streets,

The smells, the lamplights, the colors,

I loved to think that I was like the Count of Monte Christo,

I strongly disliked Madame Bovary,

I strongly disliked climbing stairs.