"I'm leaving for Paris. No I don't think that I'll see you (...) and when I get there, I will lose the ring you gave me. And when I get there. How happy I will then be. So I'm leaving for Paris."
- Rufus Wainwright, Leaving for Paris N°2.
I must have walked through the anxiety of human relations in a certain grace, in a certain armour. I have endured being a shipwreck in double-breasted blazeers and perhaps now I can cheer myself up in this double-breasted suit of mine on a bittersweet note. The chaos of memories will perhaps not disappear but it's gently poisoning my compassion. And today, I learn to write another elegy, an elegy for my heart.
P.S. I might have gotten into this sort of dark melancholy as prior to leaving the house on this occasion, I have been spending far too much time listening to my all-time favourite Wainwright album, Release the Stars. So, somewhere along the lines, you'd know where all this is coming from... and hitting it off alongside my realm of personal actualities.
Lunettes: Tom Ford, costume croisé: Hugo Boss, chemise: Hugo Boss, sandales: Pierre Hardy.
Photo: Mark Arvin.
