I often thought -actually, always- that love could only arise from first sight, from this immediate electricity that run from a body to another – and I’ve been wrongly thinking that it was transmitted from mind to mind. That was him. An inexhaustible ardor that made me crave his flesh, and not his whole being as I might imagine. It was a profound need to see him, no matter what his expression was, to hear him, no matter what he was saying, to touch him and touch everything he has touched. An endless obsession that wasn’t attached to his person itself but to its surface. I was insatiable and I may always be: what’s left to be opposed to that madness except a painful control ? That’s it: we can do nothing but suffering. But at least, if pain is in restriction, it won’t last as much as if it was in complete abandon: it will be good. And the guard shall never be lowered. But if, blind by too much euphoria, we destroy our own barriers, they must be quickly rebuilt and lucidity shall not be lost. That kind of love is an uninterrupted trap, but a subtile and vicious one because it covers itself with softness and promises. In order not to give in to that appeal, our mind and eyes shall be filled by other things.