Libi came back from the beach. I was glad to see her. I badly wanted to make love, to say things, to make her do things. She came in with the collection of bags and packs she was bringing with her smile, a reddish tan, splendid eyes, came to me --I grabbed her wrist firmly and put her hands on my dick and started to undress her with the other hand. She complied seriously, the act, our act had started beautifully. We kissed for long, which is something I not so often do... But for a magic moment I was feeling freer or lighter, I don't know. Our hearts were beating fast, we moved from the kitchen to the floor of the room to the couch to the bedroom. It only was bad knowing that this was also welcome as a symbol for making amends for something else, which is the tragic ugliness of familiarity... It took a while to take off me all the urge and the mysterious need. I know that making love can help much. I felt almost non alone. I almost hoped I had done something good, given something good--

Today everything's wrong, Libi again is asking me the wrong questions and I, feeling miserably alone, knowing to be unbearable, not knowing what to say, only thinking I have to go away, no inertia this time please no inertia. So different can be two days one coming next to the other.
Later we were sitting at the table and I wasn't listening anymore. I was recalling similar moments from other years, different table, walls, glasses, voice, face, questions. Recognizing a moment I didn't recognize back then, but that I was now feeling clearly: the moment I came to know I had to go, I had to be away.
As much as I love this woman, I was thinking, whom I can't make happy now (where I wish "I" was written lowercase) And if I don't want to leave her, but make her happy --it doesn't matter because I have to go (where?), however long it is going to take to make it happen because everything is for me and for her so unbearably difficult-- And I went on imagining a reunion later on. Our being finally together because I was coming back finally healed in my spirit and my emotions. I couldn't look at her but I wanted. I felt this grip in my stomach because yesterday it had been so different and now it was shit. Then I thought how life is actually much shorter than that, and how there is never going to be the time to achieve anything else but adaptation to this personal disaster and limitation and emptiness -- and so I drowned into that sea of anguish and premonitions and Libi went to bed, without us looking at each other anymore that night.

my relationship with her, something is happening-- suddenly I find boring what she says and I drop out of conversations without a warning-- suddenly I don't want to touch her or hug her for too long and I'd rather hug someone on the tram-- then i take it back, but then the thought is solid for a moment and I look at it as if it isn't mine--
She says something to me and I look at her for a second too long, because something slips into my mind in between, the thou-- the thought, why are we together? why do I live here? Then I lean my forehead against the cold pane over the low courtyard by the round roofs, astonished to see how I am just letting this love go, when I know love it's so precious and rare, I would find hard to forgive me afterwards, I think, for having let this rare and precious love go, and where-- and her pain and frustration--
It's like if my hands were just to weak to cling at it-- "shitty hands" my father used to call me when stuff dropped from my hands, then he would slap me hard in the face, so I learned-- Christmas ball, breakfast cup, keys, brand new issue of "Topolino" down the manhole, gas lamp at camping, Aguilas Spain, 19** -- but this has nothing to do with the thing--
I push my forehead against the pane and I think at my mug behind the window from the other side-- is it mysterious? I wish--
Behind my back she is still at the table where we ate and nobody has anything left to say, dirty dishes left to take to the sink, efforts to break through the sphinx my soul is becoming day by day-- whatever a soul is, why-- (curtains)