Game of Mirrors
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From the eaves, the wasps start building their hive. The shadow of insects that circle around them is observed through the thin curtains. That movement is what I view in the darkness of your pupils.

Don’t trust. Remember no lover arrives unarmed.

This love, a war declared for the last clod of salt. Here, there is no mercy. The lover proving to be the victor feels the salt’s grain dissolving on the tongue. In that crystal, there is an image in blood of the fallen lover.

Thereafter, the thirst will be eternal.

We already said that between lovers there is always a weapon. There it is, in the air that breathes, without revealing itself. Sometimes it will graze against you; hot, humid, its ant-crawl on various points of the body. You could say that it’s the weapon which binds the lovers, like a bridge that is hidden in fog, and unites two islands. That, I fear, is something more profound than love. At some point, the weapon will decide to let its purple glisten in one of the lover’s hands.

Buried beneath the purple petals, you will find the weapon. It will still be warm. Leave it in the same place where you took it. Someone will find it again.

What matters most in love is who shoots first.

The house filled with fine black sand. The wasps continued to spin around the hive that is now complete. Deep into the night, they assure that a light will reach each room before the thickest penumbra may seize the house.






我们已经说过在爱人之间总携有武器。它就在这里,在呼吸的空气中,没有揭示它自己。有时它会盯着你;炙热,潮湿,感受到万蚁噬骨. 你可以说它是粘合爱人的武器,像隐藏在雾中的桥梁,连接两座岛屿。我忧虑那是比爱更深层的东西。某一刻,武器会决定让它的紫色在爱人的手中闪耀。

埋葬在紫色花瓣之下,你将找到武器。它仍然将是温暖的。把它留在你拿走它的地方。 有人会再次找到它。



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