I no longer seek to please, nor to be understood,
Promises and reproaches have lost their meaning.
If the party tires me, I retire in calm,
If the book does not attract me, I leave it soulless.
I don't pretend interest where there is none,
The social masks I left in a corner.
At my age, what I long for is simple:
Hands that embrace me, looks that shine.
At this stage I've become selfish,
Few things are enough for me, but there are no regrets.
