PERVERTED PASSIONS

Someday I’ll remember something so beautiful, it will be autumn in that narrow side-street with the glassware stores, there where, when we went bankrupt, father would sell dreambooks— thereafter I never came out of the dream even though I was cold, I could at least give myself over to my perverted passions: melancholy or crowd crushes—because, let’s be honest, I have never loved anyone and that affectionate gaze of mine was for entirely private use
like the immortality of poets.