That's it, guys. I'm done for. Here's a poem by Robert Desnos. Right now, it's mine.
I have dreamed of you so much that you lose your reality.
Is there still time to reach that living body and kiss
onto that mouth the birth of the voice so dear to me?
I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, accustomed
to being crossed on my breast while hugging your shadow,
would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
And, faced with the real appearance of what has haunted
and ruled me for days and years, I would probably
become a shadow.
O sentimental balances.
I have dreamed of you so much it is no longer right
for me to awaken. I sleep standing up, my body exposed to
all signs of life and love, and you
the only one who matters to me now, I would be less able
to touch your face and your lips than the face and the lips
of the first person who came.
I have dreamed of you so much, walked so much, spoken
and lain with your phantom that perhaps nothing more is left of me
than to be a phantom among phantoms and a hundred times more shadow
than the shadow which walks and will joyfully walk
on the sundial of your life.