Les Dormeurs

So that's how she sleeps. She sleeps, sleeps, and sleeps. Neither she eats nor fucks. How sleeping differs from dreaming. She questions herself one night-as one day barely makes sense for her than one night, and of course, one night barely contains any romantic or fearsome atmosphere as usual.

She is the most patient and generous person that she has ever known and so the fact she makes the most considerate companion hurt bothers her miserably. The guilty feelings are too often and too heavy but never surpass her subordination to sleep in those mornings, never. She seems to concern to not bother the same person twice for the same reason, but she is never sure about that either. She couldn't help stopping doing that-making promises, breaking it solely because of her laziness or her drowsiness, even without any real excuses or apologies-because there exists none. It is like the feeling that she could not stop spoiling-not attending the class, not answering the call, even ignoring the
She could not reconcile the self who she stubbornly wants to become and want to remain, who she could be only when she is 'like others', and the other person, who does nothing, breaks no laws yet merely an outlaw inside-sleeps to death.

She should feel sorry for them and should apologise sincerely and should swear never to do that again, Sometimes she pretends-but she just can't. How could? For art's sake, she does not mean to do that-yet she can't. But after awake, she always realises that it is nothing but a serious lack of responsibility, incapacity to remain herself as what she has been, inability to make others believe in her, and believe that she is identical, linear being.

If she dreams about him, she would love him ardently in a way that she would never do as if she meets him in real life-in real life! What a base comedy show she acts in! What an idolatry fall she let herself in! But it was so calm-since she does all her efforts to undo her 'terrible mistakes' when she was awake when she was okay when she could be relieved for she was walking the streets 10 a. m., without staying up all night. She should have asked for help; that would have made all explanations; that would have made her comprehensible finally. Yet she refused-or

Yet if someone is not going to forgive her, that crumbles her at once. How come, how so easy to be hurt as to hurt? And because she simply does not know to what extent she should be sorry, so often her apologies become too pathetic-too sorry, which sometimes even worsen the situation.
So unreliable that she could not believe in her, yet always she tries not to think her as the person she has known well.

In what world the plan matters when you cannot believe you would wake up before you close your eyes?

It was just so hard for her to believe that yesterday's promise should be kept today, and today affects tomorrow. She can't admit that time exists like river flows, not like lightning occurs or birth is given.

To create is the easiest. To keep is the hardest.