frĕquentĭa

-_-_-_-_-_--------

One unknown day in an unknown afternoon, I passed before an even more unknown café.

Sitting down,
but I am not drinking coffee -
je ressens - j’observe -
the crowd panting around me,
a tide of bodies moving fast, too fast, almost imperceptibly fast.

My head aches from malnourishment.
You do not eat, Jeanne?
No, I do eat.

I don’t talk often.
But I want to talk. I want to talk…

I saw a woman’s shape - my age, dark hair,
pocketed elbow resting casually.
Sitting in front of me.

Do you see me?

—

I see you.

framed subject captured amidst frantic noise - one click

a film role forgotten

aching to be seen - once and

again -              double shutter speed

character

            immortalisé

Analog black & white

infinite nostalgia

                                    NOIR

waiting for the darkroom, a

vibrant red.return

—

“It’s been so long.”
“You?”

The waitress lowers the iced coffee. Too smooth. Too neutral.
My hands betray me before I understand why.

Pourquoi ça tremble comme ça.

“Do you usually like coffee?”
“Yes. Since university.”

Université.

Something tilts.

“I knew you studied Japanese… it used to attract me too.”

“How do you know that?”

“You said it. At your mother’s house. Last summer…before…”

Before what. Words babble before they are even spoken.

My throat tightens. The sentence doesn’t finish itself.

“My mother…?”

A pause. Not empty. Occupied.

“She said you wanted to be a writer. You remember?”

Silence.

Remember?

Qu’est-ce qu’il y a à retrouver, exactement ?

“Do you see me?”

Silence.

しーっ !

.

.

we didn’t need words until now

for your silent gaze                            echoes ))))

through my existential

                         hollowness.

                         I

                         see

                         you.

unflinching, waiting for someone to hear me.

WAIT. I meant you…

to hear you.

it’s just… (you look familiar)

—

The waitress comes to collect our two coffee cups.
I faintly smile. She leaves, everyone leaves, everything leaves.
Except…
your eyes. your sight.

The first time we met…

                                     It was raining. I was drinking coffee in the rain.

I didn’t even see you, did I

                                     You didn’t. But I had. I always had.

Had you noticed my newly painted hair, the purple blouse…

                                     I did. You were wearing a new black skirt too.

Do you feel seen?

                                    Sometimes. Sometimes I am happy with you being seen.

Only me?

{teary (e)yes

mirror

water

droplets

from

the

sky.

a

fall}

Only you.
君だけ。
beijo invisível.

—

Cellulose irRegular heartbea-^--^^^---t

                                             lens = a mirror

                                                 1/50, causing

motion blur

I want to be seen.
Moi aussi.

—

are you me?

                    (or a figment of my ImAg/ination)

//

What are we - destiny?

what’s real…

tell me

//

Symbiosis

こころはつながりの変化を望んでいる。
だから私たちは恋人なのだ。

---

©Jeanne Vessantra

©Nimila

If you felt something, you’re welcome to restack a passage or two that stayed with you.

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More from Nimila Studio Shyama

tears taste of ocean salt

haunted life

modern day bird watching

---

More from Jeanne Vessantra

Some pieces do not end when the text disappears.
I think this was one of them.
The full archive of Echo of I, audio readings, soundtracks, essays, private diary entries will remain in the paid section for those who wish to descend further.
For a little while longer, the door remains half-open.

Scream II.III - 涙

Scream II.II - jōka (浄化)

destiny.exe (VEIN IV)