Betrayals in war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything-for the heart is an organ of fire. It's so much more naive! People who are in first love are nervous and tender, but they can resist everything—just because their hearts are on fire.
My darling -I'm waiting for you. How long is a day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone now and I'm horrible cold. I really ought to drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun . I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings and on writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have entered, and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in, like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. We've the real countries. Not the boundaries draw on maps, the names of powerful men. I know you'll come and carry me out into the palace of winds. That's all I've wanted, to walk in such a place with you, with friends. An Earth without maps. The lamp's gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.
Darling, I am waiting for you. How long is a day in the dark, or a week in the dark? The fire was out by now, and I was terribly cold. I should have dragged myself outside, but only if the sun was out there. I'm afraid I'm wasting the light drawing now, and wasting the light writing these things. We will die. But we died so rich. We have our lovers and our tribes; we have the delicacies we have swallowed; we have the bodies we enter, in which we swim and swim like in a river. We bury our fears in it, like this desolate cave. I want to engrave all of this on my body. We will have real kingdoms, not borders drawn on maps, or the names of powerful people. I know you will come back and take me out and take me into the palace of the wind. Strolling with you in a place like this, with friends, that's all I want. A globe without a map. The lights are out too, and I'm writing in the dark now.
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