Apart

He said that he prefers me speaking english. I thought that he must be wrong and that what he imagines me to be in this language, is entirely different from what I really am. But do I exist apart from the language itself? These days I am only words and sentences. He can imagine me as he wants me to be and I can be the most vulgar or the most sensitive. Most of my heros are vulgar in some way or another. Most of us are perverted but never talk about it. I know he is. As much as I am. I know what he wants to do and how he wants to do it. Anyway. This is not a poem, no. Not even a note worth keeping. 

There is a bit of snow outside. I wonder where my best friend is. She is on a secret mission and I am very curious about it.  I don’t know more than this.