Justin (@justinpilet)

New French Poets *0* By Apyrexie sur Avenoel > I have always loved hands, which show so accurately what we are. A tested palm or on the contrary frail and graceful. Stretched and skeletal fingers, like big spidery legs, or fingers swollen with strength. One can often read in them the traces of many manual jobs or on the contrary the idleness of a peaceful life. > The nails also say a lot about our identity. There are those bitten to the bone by the highly stressed. And the long and almost sharpened ones of the coquettes, painting them in all colors. At least two worlds that separate these two and that is what is at the origin of my fascination. > Yet it is your hands that I liked to observe the most. They are beautiful, my heart. Each time I visualize them, I remember them tenderly embracing my neck. Or closing around my fingers as we loved each other. I remember their grace, delicacy and softness. > And yet, I cannot forget all that they have done. They fed, created, loved, realized, comforted, shook, broke and most of all killed. > The state of my heart is their bloody work. Drawn with the passion then by the hostility that we carried, the picture that it presents is as beautiful as disturbing. We loved each other too intensely and left each other too abruptly. > After you left, the dream we were living let me discover the nightmare that was a life without you. How had I lived before I met you? But more than that, how could I continue to do so after having done so and without having you by my side? > The world is ugly, dull, sad, hypocritical and absurd. Without the inspiration and tenderness I felt thanks to you, my hands seem much more fragile. And much too tired. > Are they still capable of loving something other than work, which has shaped them to forget that they are now incapable of loving at all? > Their heat is as great as it is insane. Yet they dry up year after year and cover themselves with bulging veins, ready to explode. > Yours have never been frail and without a doubt, they are the ones who broke mine. Greedy, they went so far as to cut my heart, devastate my look and entangle the threads of my mind. > What madman could know without having lived it, that the prettiest hands - seeming however so diaphanous - are at the same time able to create the vastest monuments and ruins? (source FR) https://avenoel.org/topic/1108927-1-texte-ce-quont-fait-tes-mains#form