It’s midnight. You know, at that time of night I go back to myself and my world. Like Cinderella.

I remember what happened but it all comes down to memory in the end. You know … I’m writing you a letter again.

I prepared the envelope, wrote the address, I even pasted the stamp on the side. However, I will never send it to you. As if that would change something …

I create a picture of the situation in my head. I imagine. The postman comes and intercepts you who just arrived from work. You take a pile of envelopes. Among them is turquoise blue, the one from me. You leave her for last.

You dedicate yourself more to those who bring elegance with them.

I, a peasant, have always loved to stick out. But only because of you, only because of you.

After the essential mail, you go to take a shower.

You’ve already turned on the coffee machine. On the way to the bathroom, you invite (our favorite) Japanese restaurant and order sushi. “Put the sauce aside,” you emphasize.

While all this is being prepared, you leave the shower cabin and return to reading the incoming mail.

You open that turquoise-blue envelope that smells like me.

“I miss you my love … Come until my heart betrays me.”

You read the letter and I know … You’re not happy.

The image of loneliness is presented differently. We both thought it would be easier to wake up in silence. I would do anything to break all this silence now with your voice. I would love to see you walk through my home again, wake me up and kiss me good morning. You tell me that every star that falls is ours.

“These are our dreams,” you said.

You not saying that anymore. That’s why I’m not sending you a letter …