You can feel as much as you want, the doves will circle either way. Our bodies grow out of the metamorphosis of photosynthesis, and sounds have always been green. With screeching, croaking claws: five crows, two of them flying.

And I follow them, but my eyes are tired; after all, the air is allergic too. On some other days, it is also the frogs, or the cold air around the blades of those who never escaped the Middle Ages. The flickering of exchange, particles rushing from A to B, distorting the air, breaking bones, but my eyes are tired. It can’t be that cold in Mauritania; after all, at night you can hear the sea rushing, if you listen closely enough. One fexofenadine, two fexofenadine, sometimes three. Luckily, I’m not claustrophobic, because my room really isn’t that big, and I can’t open the window because of the birds and the smoke. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of a dream. Medication is so loud. I’m really connected to nature, by the way, like really. I even used to swim in lakes sometimes, for real.

And I feel naked with myself, almost erotic, all excited by my own touch. Click, click, click on my window. The smoke is knocking. I don’t let it in, I’m touching myself right now; my eyes can wait. The next health minister should introduce traffic lights for symptoms, but in a way that makes them mandatory for everyone. Then I’d know when I’m allowed to be addicted. 15 minutes under the tongue, one hour if you swallow. Opiates under my eyes. Sleepily staggering to the toilet, then I wake up again, as described above. Madness. Five crows, all laughing, the doves circle in the sky. My best friend on the chair next to the bed. God, I’m ugly. God, I’m in love. Luckily, humans exist, and beds too. Soft, loving beds, the kind for making love. Even just watching, with tired eyes. From above, everything is so small, so quiet, because the doves are circling there.