Where am I?

What have I done? What must I do next? What passion holds me? What sorrow devours me?

I was abroad and a stranger in a bar told me one day: “If you love a place, it’s more because of how you feel when you go there than what the place provokes in you.” Then, you refuse the soul of the place, you refuse the environment can interact and transform somebody. You deny encounters that move you. Therefore, I disprove this theory.

And all those fragile words are a humble try to share my own theory about worlds that explode you and reveal your multiple versions of yourself…

If my travels became my poetic wanderings’ essence, it’s because I love the idea of trying what I would like to call the Impressionism of writers… When the artistic current was born in the middle of the 19th century, painters tried to give their fleeting impressions, one phenomena’s mobility, instead of the stable and conceptual aspects of reality. Thus, when I draw landscapes, encounters, places of my wanderings with my words, I try to transcribe my fleeting emotion, I randomly pick words that put together are a fragment, or a whole, of what I saw, heard, felt. The stable and conceptual aspects of reality doesn’t matter. What is thrown on the white paper is only Impression misty sun. What remains invites who read and understand me to travel.

Today, I decide to publish my writings, hoping some would find themselves between my lines, others would pack and explore the town next door or the other side of the world, some others would feel a beautiful escape without a move and maybe some would not care because it takes all sorts to make a world…

On this endless and international spider web, I’ll tell stories, present and past, my own endless stories, unreal and intangible. And I might, on my journey, according to my knowledge and my desire, strew some absurd and necessary tips for the next tired and amazed wanderer…

Justine

We left
Side by side
To the end of the street
To the end of the world
It doesn’t matter
We left
And we are already not the same
We left behind
Where we started
A part of ourselves
We left
Leaving behind our steps
Our past
There
For a new start

A man lives and a man dies
And between those two eternities
He leaves
For a new life
A new start
We left
One after the other
Leaving behind
Who we were
Who we won’t be ever again
We left
Together
Side by side
In opposite ways
It doesn’t matter
We left
And already we were tearing off ourselves
We were leaving a part of our being

We left
Committed
Stubborn
Because we have to go
To start
To start again

To live
To live again
We left
With joy and enthusiasm
We left
Holding hands

Kinsale – March 15th, 2016

To discover other pieces of my work : My first official publication


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