I'm lying on the terrace, it smells cat food and from here I hear a Nirvana song playing in the kitchen.

I've lost weight. My head bone, elbows, and some parts of my back bone are crushed on the hard floor.
I'm back home, I made loads of tea but got no one to share it with.
My mother drinks coffee. The cats are ignoring me.
I think about Sophie and Léa, still in paris, tangled up in RER and metro line, intersected, images they create and picture I can get in my mind.
The day, the night.
I think about the essay I've got to send, to complete this year. I think about Tieum who won't call back anymore.
I'm made of bones, eyelids open as thin sliced fruits, I can almost see the air, that is the color it would be if there was only one today and the melody filling it.
Well, made of bones... still got too much self esteem to admit that I'm pissed off about T. .
Kurt Cobain always reminds me of Anne, in the past tense. I get up, tired of star-fishing the floor.

It's summer.