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Before, the question was discovering whether life needed to have any meaning to be lived. Now, on the contrary, it has become clear that it will be more vivid if it has no meaning.

Albert Camus, 1942.

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To be loved is to be seen and forgiven.

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The Ancient Topaz.

Your skin is mother-of-pearl and the scent of winter comes from your hair - blood, myrrh, fire... The pain comes from you between the abysses from which memories are born: knees on the ground, eyes that were once childish, bathed in topaz tears and waves breaking on the sea shore.

Give me back my pearls, my lord. Give me back my islands, my fascination with the punctual beams in which life shines. Give me back my treasure - which is so much more than mere memories covered in joy from when I was still a girl.

My anger came from you, which I have now imbibed. The loss of innocence came from you, which I have long forgotten.Devour me, cruel creator, in the false blue of your passage through my flesh. Bring me to my knees and watch as I fade into the crimson of every new beginning. Your winter is my spring.

I knelt beside you and stained myself because I wanted to lick the violet of your cold skin, run the hot tip of my tongue through the silver of the shackles of your harsh melancholy. You allowed me to navigate through the gaps in your mind and, even if you whip me, you won't forget how brilliant it was to have my wings pouring gold into your hands.