I had a strange dream last night : at the Gare Saint-Lazare, in that café, the one where Alexandre Fabbri was waiting for Veronique – you must remember when I made you watch the film, you were so tired that evening but you couldn’t say no to me, I sat there all night beside you, after the film was over, reading from the English translation of Faiz, drinking wine from your glass after I finished mine, don’t you remember that we didn’t sleep at all that night – in the dream, my dear, Veronique’s face keeps reappearing, the one from the moment she realizes that it was all a game, a literary experiment and nothing else, don’t you remember when she gets up and leaves?
My love, in the dream, as it often happens in dreams, I know it is Veronique but her face keeps changing so that once it is your face, and once it is mine and I can’t seem to tell who is Veronique in that strange life, and who is conducting the experiment? Who takes the train? I don’t know, my love, I don’t know. I must stop watching so much Kieslowski. You are right.
In another dream, the one that began after that one ended, I am looking for a god to ask the question you wanted me to ask : and all I find is an abandoned set, an empty chair, with no script to be found anywhere.