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17/03/2006
The street behind us has the name Yesterday, at least it was so written in our memories. But I know that they know also that its real name is Never Again. Do not turn back, waiting is only night, it was heard from internal landscapes, tears are not to be received or given as gifts, glittering on their lamps.

We made myths, we made legends from memories and from past loves - shadows, which indeed crave for clouds, but don't leave soil.

I was told about the great world discovered in lost things, a frozen sky over a big river, the black wave of our silences. The summer has the eyes deeper than dawns, mutually, hers and mine, trying to return to ourselves, from women lightened with days. Nights glitter as the shelter of tenderness, always in getaway, always short-lasting women's touches.

Women loving other women walk with an unrealized touch, on the crossways, disappearing in shadows, told these three to me. With talkative faces, with brave faces, with silent faces, with sad faces. Through barely heard whispers, through murmurs and smoke, I had the privilege of playing with their scales, without asking myself what will happen to us after.

~Zorica Mrsevic, "Tearing Pain...", Queer Notions II: More Thoughts on the Relationship of Sexuality to Revolution, August 1997

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