home at last. i press play and lay back on my chair.
a long shiver.

I was just bony hands as cold as a winter pole

outside the night has fallen, and i feel like i’ve seen none of the faint daylight all day long.

Over the ramparts you tossed the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers

i keep in mind that it won’t be long anymore until i’m finally free. i count the days flowing slowly away like the thin notes of a distant guitar flowing inside my warm space.

tied to a brick, sweet as a song, the years have been short but the days were long.

a very short break, like a breath. and it starts again. i keep holding my breath when i walk under the rain. even the rain is pale these days, even when it cowardly stays in the grey hazy skies.

when our kite lines first crossed, we tied them into knots and to finally fly apart we had to cut them off.

i think about a sentence that i’ve read on L’Excentr?e’s comments : “true friends are lonely people who accept each other”.
i’m not sure to know what it means, but i find this definition beautiful. beautiful enough to make me wonder…

Since then it’s been a book you read in reverse so you understand less as the pages turn

meanwhile, i keep having good news, and read every one of the city lights as a sign. a sign of what, i’m not sure. it’s like you arrive on a subway platform just when the subway you have to take arrives, too, and it happens everytime for a few days. no matter what, you’d take it as a sign.

the years have been short but the days go slowly by, two loose kites falling from the sky drawn to the ground and an end to flight.

it ends with the long moan of an electronic organ. my tea is cold by now.
oh well…