So it was Well?
The creaking of the door has betrayed her when she came. It was there, hands in pockets, hostile. He watched.
- Oh, a little classic for me!
- Annie And she loved?
- in fact she did not come, his little patient, you know ...
She walks to the couch to put down his bag, then puts his season ticket at the theater. When she returns, she sees that he looks at her insistence - found nothing else to do.
- But what do you have?
When she crosses its path, it initiates the arm to the wall to interfere.
Around them, the city has expanded, organized, creeping. The lamps cast their white circles on the floor of the room in disorder, as in places of perdition.
She remains motionless for a moment, the challenge.
--If you like, let me pass, I'm tired.
In its latest move, he looked at her bust and he smelled her smell, her hair smelled. From his side, she saw her face very close, a face she does not recognize. Something indefinable that seeped into him for some time until distort his mouth, something that surely comes from his past and has strengthened since it made its decision and that confidence has changed.
He knows, he feels.
And it's true that it is not the same since that famous night when the other had placed his hand against his neck.
She said
- I'm sorry.
Yes, that night - even more than the other night - she apologizes for the pain that filled her with a terrifying point and rises in him like a storm. But she can not give detailed explanations on what is happening to her. The attraction of novelty, this fiery body, that act which empty of all thought and throws it on a bed of hot sand ... and the silence that follows.
This total oblivion to itself.
He retired to a corner of the room. He said in a barely audible voice:
- So, everything is finished?
- I do not know.
On the dresser, near the lamp, there is a photograph of a child, a boy of seven or eight years. Just next door, a bouquet of white flowers.
.........................
Evolves fidelity!
text and ink in symbiosis play the partition separating the dark corners of the soul, the vacuum suspended from the indefinable!
text, concise, delves into the beginnings of a breakdown, ignores lyricism to simply focus on the severity of deprivation with simple words, close, intimate. Spared upstream miasma of hate, the story stands as a statement of inevitability when words are silent in the delta of a new journey. Something pure modesty as flush as the pain of growing up, burning desire of the desert, unknown star of curiosity ...
There remains only the dynamics things, which makes the leaves fall in autumn, to win. Gone are the downside of suspicion, the Light bursts at a crossroads! At the window, clear, swipes the destiny of black sky white sky, and the tightrope is stretched to the tightrope!
Marie-Lydie Joffre
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