when I think of those who touched my story and disappeared in the archives of time without leaving any tangible traces, and me the same thing, when I think about it, I blink (or it looks like it))
When I think of it
Archives par mot-clé : fence
when closing one eye
other people's stories
in the lifeline that stretches when
closing one eye. Or the two of them trying
to tell me the path. Walked. Travelled. Used.
Out of breath.I must rest. The world will not change (that much)
Behind the door life begins
I draw with the pencils of another
that is a surprise !
I will say to myself I don’t know
I might say to myself maybe
like many things that don’t last
the world will not change
and we will fall from our knees
at the end of long lines
which do like the cold