never take you to Madame Léonie look you in the palm of the hand, maybe I was afraid to read in your hand a terrible truth about me, because you were always a terrible mirror, a fearful machine replicates and what we call love was perhaps that I was standing in front of you, with a yellow flower in her hand, and you were holding two green candles and time blowing against our faces a slow rain of resignations and layoffs and metro tickets [. ..]
J . C.
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