Observe love, wanting to be loved. Observe warmth, while I feel the cold. Wanting to break all of the schemes, all of the porcelain pieces that remain from this doll that has only: played? or she has been: played with?
To play with observation, wanting to be looked at. To play with love, wanting to destroy the betrayal. The need to build a new doll, but this time she can’t be a toy. To be new? Maybe that’s the problem.
To feel cold, while seeing the warmth of love in others. Schemes of loneliness of which today I could testify for. Playing on my own in my house of dolls. I pretend to be a child, discovering the lack of affection of becoming an adult.
Playing at being in love is what I have observed from being by your side, sleeping next to the coldness that carry the armor of your wings. Wings that you don’t use, wings that you don’t let anyone use… Now they have been, like my porcelain, broken by discovering the betrayal of the game: lack of affection.