The shadow of Christophe Selsym

Christophe Selsym only lived for his love.
He only existed the day of the week he met her, it was a randomly chosen day
it could be an iron Monday, or a velvet Friday
only she decided when, always.

The place where they met to love, it was a hidden a place
a place that smelled like fantasy
a place called ******.

They just met to love, because: what else they could do?
Once they felt disgust of each other, they said goodbye, and left, like strangers.

Christophe Selsym still observed his love getting her bus, and going away
then he left the place in his car, as well.
As he was driving alone, and getting closer to his home, his body was gradually losing density and consistency, it was 4:50 AM

his figure was progressively acquiring an ethereal state, translucid.

When Christophe Selsym arrived home, his humanity was barely visible, phantasmal

he opened the door and entered, like a cloud of tiny steam would do.

Christophe Selsym left then the umbrella in a corner of his room, and opened the wardrobe

then closed it
then walked to the bathroom

a dim, almost imperceptible shadow of his body still was reflected on the floor.

Some distant steps and some unidentified noises could yet be heard in the house for a while, lower and more distant every moment.

Some minutes later Christophe Selsym was not there, the house was empty
out on the street, the night still rolled on its own shadows.