i feel the lack of your warm intentions, on my body, not as cold but as an absence of warm.
10 days of getting used to hands saying come let me open a small world for you see this is where i wonder this is where i fight this is where i shelter.
while talking.
while walking.
while looking at screens.
while looking at each others.

you've nurtured in me a desire of learning and sharing as a passionate but difficult exercice.
could i be you?
could you be me?
you've showed me an articulation of structure and lack of structure just enough so that there is enough space to dance (stretching our arms and fingers without hitting any walls) and to trust (the reassuring scafolding of roles and rules).

my body is cold but my heart is warm, as i have a new stone in it: a refreshed confidence in community and a sharpened blade to fight for what matters to me now.
as i try more and more alternative ways of doing i get a more accurate sense if what it means to do.
i want the multitude of energies that you all carefully handled to me to be part of my everyday dialogue with the world.
i am thankful to had the privilege to experiment frictions from our everydays (both social and technological, public and intimate) in such a bright, glimering, shinning bubble.

one thing that i am learning to hate as it spreads is smoothness. while my surroundings are being liquified into an homogenous paste for the practicality of immediaticity, you gave me a full plate of spices and textures (including the crunch, the hot and the bitter, and the ones that take long to chew).
you gave me difficulty in the most beautiful way: not as something to solve but as something to stay with. emboddied in alienations, where friction causes sparks, and that make me ask myself:
can i be you?
can you be me?
that trigger this feral desire to be more than one.