The fog, my goodness, is fading

The fog, my goodness, is fading. I will be laughed at if I say that Neptune is moving away from my Sun. Anyway, I am in control of my destiny, at least of its interpretation. For the past two years, I have been mourning, but especially cleaning, without really knowing where all this could lead me. I gave up this, that, that, and now things seem to be going well. In the wake of these steps, crumbs, a few regrets, and the passing of time, slimming the beautiful on my skin every day, graying my temples and weighing my knees.

Is it certainty? Is it confidence in the future? The sky is not so clear, though. A few days ago, a young Brazilian friend told me that we were friends for eternity, stating a few hours later that we were going down different paths, running and enjoying his youth (and sexuality), me walking rather slowly (I always had a slow step), igniting myself like a dry twig at the slightest feeling received, not knowing whether to see in the expression of my feelings pain or wisdom.

My voice, the one I have been working on for five years, has finally reached this counter-ut and even, sometimes, this counter-b. I sing these ultimate notes for myself alone or for my teacher who has a good idea of making me revisit the repertoire I sang at the beginning. The voice is more there, satisfied with having got rid of the castrating military straitjacket of the choir. At first, I never tired of telling anyone who wanted to hear it, and even at the risk of annoying everyone, all these discoveries. However, the true learning of singing can only be understood in the narrow interior of own’s body. You have to live to know. Ah! I could have been a soloist... Ah! I could have been a photographer or a famous writer. Oh! The twig that still ignites, that doesn’t look at the expense of its dry sap.

So much for the warm/cold of my thoughts, surrounded by the happiness of being loved, the