A gun to the eye brought a tear to the heart and took the life of my dearest sister. O thou who brought pain to suffice her spleen. If the life was not convenient for you, from the beginning, of your mania you equipped yourself, to return my sun, to me darling, so blackened.
A last step towards life? Spread out for a last moment, to breathe this air? Smile at life one last time? My so utopian hope, did not make possible the vision of my fathers.
In the media, the charge touched them, one with the other, intent upon misfortune.
What seemed to be such a wonderful day was not so wonderful now. If on the sacred morning, the lively voice of the said star of the East or of the magnificent Asmahan brought back moments followed by memories, Tristan was the end of this day impregnated with sadness after sadness. Swallowed by the sea, the last step tore the canvas of tender innocence, draped with stigmata, the pain was felt. One shot, two, three... Anyway, it was enough!
Equipped with a strength to act as arid as a desert, I touched the bottom, at least tended to touch it. In spite of the feeling of near death, my heart, tarnished by the previous event, forbade me to act.
A last breath thus gave birth to a tear in my heart.
Healed, life beckoned to me suddenly, in a peaceful place. Is it just a dream? To this question, my attention was lessened, it turned out to be attentive to a new creation.
Sitting in this room, I admired, watched and observed. A bird flies over the dead sky at the end of February.
In its wing fluttering, a shaking makes me smile, and by its certain white glow, I question myself and admit to myself an Angevin sweetness.
With a very sudden impression, I contemplate what remains of our "living" world. Didn't they once say not to shoot the mocking bird?
Yet, no one seems to pay the slightest attention to this new creation.
All of them in a car, a bus or a train perhaps, but I was alone in silence, alone with no one near me.
Wondering about today's youthful loneliness, recusing the outdated speech of tomorrow.
If the nostalgic melody and the faded lyrics have allowed me to fill in the few quotations of my manuscript, then all you would need to do is take a better look. If what my pupils could see was visible to the being, then, in front of such and such, you will be stunned.
You, the woman with the black bag, or the man with the two brown-haired twins, come! Life gives us an appointment, an encounter with the fallacious of the mortal and the dead.
In front of these many windows, I see a life appearing before me. The bark and branches of the black tree grow long and remind me of the reckless moments when the jasmine stems bent to hide my childhood tears, those summer nights filled with pain and sorrow so much carried away.
A rendezvous, I tell you, a lesson surely?
Faced with the knowledge of mother nature, my knowledge remains perplexed, innate and in front of this meeting, certainly ephemeral, my phlegm is no longer a philosopher, it is carried away by the militant and ardent proselytism that this birth, so far away, makes me feel.
A birth, pierced the grey of this so isolating sky, when men and women seem more compelled to protect their food from the icy winter wind than their own flesh.
Nature is animated and excited by this new birth.
A tweeting procession begins, has the spring wind just arrived in these sinister places?
I believed in such contrivances, but even if my soul often wins over my bile, the coming advent made me sink.
I from above, she from below, had seen and perceived the frost which confirms the presence of winter.
Indeed, on my right, it was not only my phone that bothered me. There was above all, a small window, which seems to restrict and censor the forbidden. You, the old woman with the green-yellow hat, with me had witnessed, with me, the death of this same bird, at its first flight.