Did you only exist ?
In the streets of our cities. Stray Statues. A name, a posture. Some scribbled words. On a stone, a cold and frozen plate. To remember. What did you exist? One says of you that you made. The beautiful ones and large things, which you had a weight in the city. I want to believe it. I do not seek to know. I accept this truth. Last years. Under snow and the cold. Time is spaced. At the point more to look at you. To pass to your feet. Completely detached. Did you only exist?
Lire la suitePure
A moon halation. In one night of trees to the touchy bodies. I stole his milky glare. Of a point of feather. Threading through the cat of the lock. Heart of a cloudy sky. It can miss with the skies. Because it shines in your eyes. Like the most invaluable good. It is as that which I want you. Pure.
Lire la suiteThe last image
One evening, one night, in the cold of a park. A bench covered with snow. A white light under the icy wind. Some traces of step in snow. The idea of the summer, in love coupled. The thought of children playing with passion in front of an attentive mother. A ridiculous memory. Like this stereotype. Tomorrow, with the return of the sun, there will not exist any more. Will remain only the image of a transitory past.
Lire la suiteI remember
I remember. It was, a long time ago, with the country of the vacancies. In the middle of my childhood. At the time of deadening me. I left far, so far. In a sigh. Plains in forests, small valleys in hills until the section of the road. On the back of an imaginary horse. A day ago. Neither of morning, nor of evening. There remained only the time fixed on the heart of a mystery. That to grow of an opened up size. At the point of touching stars, taking down them and to bring back them in my daydreams. Gallops in wild races. On the back of a horse ever tired. Of return, I fell asleep. Happy, exhausted. Merry, made drunk. Of this marvellous voyage. The years passed. The horse rests in the attic. This evening, I will awake it. For new wild races. We will go to the sky. There, where the stars sleep. There, where I will take most beautiful. We will return to all sails. To slip it into the package. That of all the secrecies. Whose this feeling gives to love you. That I will give you. With the caress of a sigh. The soft breath to daze you.
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I love you. I hate you
I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. Ever measured. Impassioned, I would owe it. Revolted, I could it. Where to carry out us? To build, destroy. To make our love a field of flowers, a lot of ruins. To like with all to exaggerate. To like with all to devastate. To run, flee. To better find itself. Worse, to move away. So often repeated. Never to be left. Our devils have the force of our glares. They always survived our crashes. Who are only storms. Ridges of strong waves not putting to us at the festival. Violent one blows of heads. Who do not make badly, just to shout. One learned how to play about it. Our devils are worn there the claws. Our hearts do not bleed any more like the first times. Our love rebiffe. He fights, imposes his faith. One has need one for the other more than front. Otherwise. With less glares, less crash. Time put its grain of salt. Imperceptibly, fugacement, terribly to the sky. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. They are only words. Passions, revolts, to carry out us. All up there. Until this idea that we want neither ruins, nor devastations. It would be damage. Our years flee. Without time to lose in cries. We do not have of it any more the age.
Lire la suiteYour black zones
There are in you these black zones. There, where you hide your shades. Those which reinforce you or encumber you. All these things which attack you. You dark or you battles. These hatreds, these fears which push like undergrowth. To hide you, to protect you where that you go. I then any more to follow you, I am not any more size. The large white wall of your life bored. Many holes in which I tremble to engulf me. To face your faults. They cracked our old days, basked in the sun our complicity. We entered the half-light. Each one on our side. Living with mine, I felt the weight of your shades. You were closed again as I did. We saw our life melting. The daily newspaper narrowed to become a small whole nothing. Vis-a-vis the large wall of your life, I see nothing any more but black holes as deep as mine. We will not be able any more to answer us. Thus we were to pose the last point. I would never have thought that we would be able from there to mope. We are without a future. All is always written, the evil and the good. You told me. You repeated it to me. I could not believe in it. But, today in the black. I understand that the destiny is a form of truth. To accept it, it was necessary that I go until despair. To see you you going from there. You left me that in heritage. Did I really become wiser?
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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
