Anne de Gandt

“I seek a woman, the woman of my desires. Who won’t be scared by loyalty and truth, nor turn away from the darkness of a soiled past. – Decades”

“The arc of my dream, the curve of my desires, the hand on my wound. You move forward, shifting and fragile, in the sinuous possible interlacings. The regular and intangible arrow come from heaven guides me through it. It bends, curves, swells. Bounces, stops, restarts to the rhythm of my sighs. I follow it with my eyes as I follow your heart.”

“Couples follow each other, sure of themselves and bold, in the starchy set of the easy ways. The concessions gap is growing. Dominant models who want to be the rule, like a distorted norm of bad company. Sheltered with certainties, they look at me mockingly, while I struggle in a lost erroneous and obsolete myth; they tell me where to go, how to live. The easy compromise, whatever emotional or material, shrinks your smile. It's easier to live side by side, than truly love. I know it. It's easier to hide from love, than take the forever path of its desire. To fall, at any cost, into the punished beam of a broken solitude.”

“I hide myself to avoid others; but the lust for life reasserts itself, through the boredom or in the inflection of distress. It's an escape, a tuneless melody, a painless lament. Broken line of a poem missing its author, writing of a deconstructed life, scar of a wound still open, the pain of living without love or being loved tarnishes desire, dulls the look, weakens the heart.”

“The shame of living extends its tentacles around my dreams.”

“Red my memory, red my despair. Red my nights, red my bloody pain. What would I become without you, colour of my entrails?”