Wandering

Over the past few months, I've returned several times, day and night, to the places where I studied at university, where I spent my student life... An obsessive, sad, anguished wandering through these places of my youth that have become dead, silent, frightening. There's literally nothing to see there and yet I return again and again, in disgust, perhaps precisely to experience this disgust, to convince myself that there's nothing left to see there, to come to terms with this fact once and for all, to mourn, as the cooks say. Or perhaps it's the other way round, perhaps I'm not nostalgic for more lively times, richer in events and encounters; perhaps I return to these places to see them dead at last, empty at last, stripped of all the dusty theatrics we call a life. In their naked truth, the truth of nothingness.