I'd swear th'was the place. So here I am: staring at the face of Nowhere.

Human being implies

to be.

That's so annoying.

I like writing in a language

that is not mine. It reminds me

nothing should be.

Samuel Beckett made it, and then

he wrote En attendant Godot.

Good for him. I've always loved that play (and Vladimir and Estragon)

I'm feeling anxious today. My hands

are trembling

while I write these words.

It's the same as when I sat

below my window and smoked. T'was summer.

The city lights were wobbling, too.

Now it's summer once again. I still

smoke below the window. I can see the

whole town, and the river in front of me.

There's always a season, and a window

and a couple of smokes waiting for me.

I've always taken it for granted - and that's how it is.

But it also reminds me I do not take it all

done - it's time, it's high time to

forget how to be and become nothing.

I wanna be no more and mix myself with the

whole town, the river, the window and

my couple of cigarettes.

I wanna become the smoke,

feel like smoke and the wobbling city lights

and disappear.

They won't find me.