L'Amour, la Mort, les Fringues

They stick to our skin and soul, our clothes. We believe we buy them, they own us. Warning ! these rags are traitors: far from dressing us they expose our complexes, our moods ... Clinging to their hangers, to our memories too, they exercise an underhand dictatorship. Snuggled up, huddled together, they build a bulwark against oblivion in our closets. Often stained for eternity with ink or redcurrant, impregnated with perfume, tears sometimes, piled up or messed up on our shelves, they remain fo...