she was weaving a story it felt good but the weft threads were shaking memories were interrupting the most beautiful dreams and awakening a sense of dizziness
elle ourdissait une histoire
bon mais la trame tremblait
interrompant les plus beaux rêves et
feeling sorry for the world won’t cut it, just get on with the job of living one day at a time.
se sentir désolé pour le monde ne suffira pas, il faudra s’atteler à la tâche de vivre, un jour à la fois.
I close my eyes to listen to my roots, the roof over my head must be an illusion that will not hold up, I will take somebody else’s voice to fill the guest card and then lay down, exhausted, in my dark stories.