SHE

(When I want to feel in advance a happiness I've been waiting for some time, my temperament soon clashes with the circumstances: I call, I talk, I complain and demand, and I replace the long, calm looks I take at myself in the mirror with the gaze of a lost pupil, a subtle, dilated gaze that penetrates everything and abandons it with anguish --- I also make myself forget here and there, for varying periods of time, to create vague, ethereal, spectral spaces, to wait in the silence of reverie for the improved opportunity, free from the old ways of this or that environment, its vulgar familiarity that perhaps would wear me down by exposing me to the forced knowledge of foolishly interrogative people, or even to that which, remaining silent out of discretion, naively and foolishly longed for contact and conversation --- in this life we ​​lead, it's certain that everyone survives by being a bit of a careerist here and there, some at the wrong time and place perhaps, and the system of insecure survival is constantly made up of small scores to settle, rough edges to trimming, points to score, internally and externally, and also of notorious maneuvers of cunning, escapes even, even among the best of friends, of the useless complication in which we persevere until we make our lies sparkle, day after day, the anticipation of any supposed extra happiness as if floating in front of me, in the vagueness of a future that seems more like a distant past revived, that comes to my mind like an effect that makes me equal to the feminine notables of my environment, and that captures my attention, scrambled by sensitive ideas, probing ideas, ideas of improved situations at key points in life, capable of impressing my imagination, numbing my understanding and my excessive pondering of everything, and of switching off my thoughts, provoking furtive ecstasies with the infallible mental repetition of the same details dreamed of so long ago --- this is how I announced to myself the lists of possibilities made and remade in life, always covered by unexpected amusements, cheap situations from a movie or soap opera, voice and eye performances with which I promised myself I would find, after a week or two of directed efforts, the country, the city, the job, the house, the trip, the friends and the man I desired in my hastily remade world, dosed with rivotril, nights out, strolls in the vacuum of the shopping center or supermarket, under the influence of something else, always supposing much more than one man to honor my feeling of myself with the quotation of his reverential gaze, where I could see reflected if not everything, at least the unreal haunting of everything I remade and created mentally alone ---and to quote Proust, why not?: "avoiding and deceiving" the precise and unabashed glance of the connoisseur to whom a false jewel is shown, this one that I prefer to only cherish in secret, in my heart, and with whom I always have arguments, how cold that look of his leaves me!)