i want to die in Paris.
i fell in love in Paris.
it was where a love story that I thought would only happen in melodramas began
or ended
Derrida screwed his peers in Paris
Repetition is worshiped in Paris
i didn't drink coffee
Monet, Merleau-Ponty, Deleuze, Godard, Beckett, Debussy, Satie in Paris
Brook became an old senile man in Paris
Artuad immortalised in Paris
Lacan stared at his mirror
i didn't reach the summit of the Effiel tower
when i closed my eyes, i could remember the concrete i walked alone at midnight
the blurred faces, the imagined profiles, the traces of memories
found the link between Lourve and Pompidou
i want to die in Paris
and fall in love again in Paris
where there won't be memories
but everlasting absence

most of them died in Paris
let me die there too
rest in chaos