I bit into the cherry.
It was bleeding red juice.
Like me.

I bit into the cookie. It was nothing like you.

I warmed it in the microwave, wishing that the melted chocolate had the taste of talking to those eyes,

wishing that the warm butter had the smell of your hair.

It was nothing like you.
I forgot about it.

It looked tasty, like looking into your eyes.
Nothing better "pour se consoler"

I bought it. I gave her a name.
It gave me silence, like you.

I called it Chloké, just like I called you Lakbida before knowing your real name.

Then I bought a cherry—because you have to get "la cerise sur le gâteau"

Tes yeux ne brilleront jamais en lisant ces mots.
Je suis d’une immense tristesse.

Mais tu ne le sauras jamais.

15:16 😁

🧵3/3

Then I went home
without shoulders, nor arms,
without knees, nor legs.

Yes, they are beautiful —
that’s what I say
when they aren’t
inspiring me anything
like yours.

🧵2/3

And as punishment
to all these girls
with eyes beautiful enough
to remind me of your gaze,

with smiles bright enough
to remind me there’s life
in yours,

with perfect noses —
but not yours,

with shaped bodies —
but not yours,

I went to the gym.
I did all your favourite exercises,
for hours.