Justine Levy; Nothing Serious

“you’re looking at me, you’re waiting for an answer, a reaction, or maybe not, you just uttered those words to see where and how they’d fall. well, they fall on the ground. they fall flat. i could say to you no, i don’t agree, i don’t feel free, i don’t want to be free anymore, being free terrifies me, being free of what, of betraying, of deceiving, of hurting, of being alone? but i don’t want to. i don’t pick the words up. i just look at you with your nervous air and your funny gestures that aren’t like you anymore but you must be telling yourself they’ll impress the customers who couldn’t care less about us, actually. it was amusing, before, arguing with you. it was amusing when i loved everything about you, you as a whole, your weaknesses, your faults, i loved your faults too, and i liked it when we argued, i liked being wrong with you, and right with you, and kissing you, and interrupting you to say wow you have such soft skin, and playing at being a baby, and playing at being an adult, and putting a finger in your mouth as you were talking to annoy you a little, touching your teeth, pressing the tip of your nose, roughing you up, i belonged to you, you belonged to me, you know we were like that. now, i don’t want to anymore. i don’t even feel sad. i’d like to, but i can’t, i think you’re too dull, almost laughable, and also i’ve become a solid block of egoism now, nothing can slip between me and me, neither sadness nor unhappiness, i don’t let anything enter except for pleasure, yes, i have that capacity, to filter what reaches me, to choose, i’ve chosen not to be sad, or something in me has chosen for me, i don’t know, i don’t want to know, it doesn’t interest me.”