Duras

She presents herself as a bitter person, all is lost, all is sinking, in the end, feelings are a mockery, no one is worthy of her offering long enough, all fades away, only recess and recession are genuine, inconsistant and rebellious in her writings, in interviews, she uses a grim smile and her eyes coo when the darts of her wit hit the blind veneration of her interlocutor, and that's pretty to notice the joy she gets from it, that makes me tender, that little game amusing her, disturbing people, being original, the lecherous goddess of decadence, but like everyone else, in front of the right person, with the right words, will come trust and abandon, the pure being appears, sensitive, under the mocking mask of the misunderstood one, somewhere inside, everyone wants to be seen and accepted as his real self, that can only be found in a shared confidence, and there's a behavioral key that not every others own to reach out to the heart of a person, you can't do otherwise than to drop the mask, even a cherished one, and keep it in your pocket, that moment is sugar, we'll all come back to lick it some more, carried by the tide of this taste at freedom.
Miss you are irreplaceable, a human being i would like to hear the stories beyond, and lift our guards off for a meeting, an emotional duel.