You're killing me. You do me good.

I remember you.
The city was made to fit the size of our love.
You were made to fit the size of my body.
Who are you?
You’re killing me.
I was hungry. Hungry for infidelities, for adultery, for lies and for death.
Since forever.
I wasn’t sure that you, one day, would fall upon me, just like that.
I was waiting for you with an unlimited impatience, steadily.
Devour me. Deform me in your image, so that no one else, after you, can understand the reason for so much desire.
We will be alone, my dear.
The night is never going to end.
The day is not rising on anybody.
Never. Never again. Finally.
You’re killing me.
You do me good.
We will weep for the perished day, with conscience and care.
We will weep for the lost souls, perished in the heat of winter.

casually translated from French. Hiroshima Mon Amour - Marguerite Dumas