The heat of your hand
You wanted that I come with you to admire the cathedral, his turns, this sky which surrounds its arrows. You told me that there was an environment, “a heart”. I listened to you of a discrete ear, without really paying attention to your statement. You annoyed me but I did not say it. You insisted wearying me, exasperating me. However, you pushed me outside. You drew me, involved, taking to me the hand for the first time. I liked. I did not say myself it. By decency, out of fear of breaking the magic of this moment? We arrived on the place. I raised the head, considering the twin towers, sisters identical to the parents without imagination. I kept the heat of your hand in mine. That held me more with heart. I told you that I liked the vision of this cathedral whereas I thought only of you. You told me that I lied, that I had come only to please to you. Disappointed, you released me the hand. You took it again never again.
Lire la suiteLa chaleur de ta main
Tu voulais que je vienne avec toi admirer la cathédrale, ses tours, ce ciel qui entoure ses flèches. Tu me disais qu’il y avait une ambiance, « une âme ». Je t’écoutais d’une oreille discrète, sans vraiment porter attention à tes dires. Tu m’ennuyais mais je ne le disais pas. Tu insistais me lassant, m’exaspérant. Pourtant, tu me poussas dehors. Tu m’as tiré, entraîné, me prenant la main pour la première fois. J’ai aimé. Je ne te l’ai pas dit. Par pudeur, par peur de casser la magie de ce moment ? Nous sommes arrivés sur la place. J’ai levé la tête, vu les tours jumelles, sœurs identiques aux parents sans imagination. Je gardai la chaleur de ta main dans la mienne. Cela me tenait le plus à cœur. Je t’ai dit que j’aimais la vision de cette cathédrale alors que je ne pensais qu’à toi. Tu m’as dit que je mentais, que je n’étais venu que pour te faire plaisir. Déçue, tu m’as lâché la main. Tu ne l’as plus jamais reprise.
Lire la suiteThe marvellous gleam
One hour ago particular where the sun passes through the stained glasses projecting on the ground of the cathedral a luminous spot. It lengthens on the ground, on the chairs, the stalls of the monks, extending his body, its arms in a white gleam. It remains little. A cloud, the shade of a pillar often come to extinguish it. Each day, it returns unrelentingly.
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J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
