I failed to lose you
The morning, while raising me, I know that you will be there. The evening, you will accompany me at the time to lay down me. It is simple, regular, creature of habit. You like the practices. They are in your nature. The practices make safe you. You feel protected. I accepted it because you will be able to never change what is registered in you. I love you for that and so much of other things. I hate the practices, the routine but you need some to feel you well. It is your nature. I accept it because I love you. I do not stop using this verb. I combine it at all times. I combine it at this so imperfect time of this routine which removes its true nature to him. Moreover, I do not know more really than is only to love you. The morning, you are there. The evening as much. My love is corroded by the practice. This throbbing repetition is only one call towards this vacuum where I am spread out with too much ease. I understood it, yesterday, when you slipped, that you knocked yourself. You staggered. You failed to fall. I felt your pain, the danger which had just threatened you. I was afraid of this dreadful, violent fear which produced a fault in me. There was at the bottom the vacuum to lose you. I measured what you represent for me, which gives a direction to our life of each day. Happiness to see the glare in your eyes, their so sharp way to look at me. I had forgotten that I could lose you, that we could lose ourselves. Your fall broke in me the word to like and its routine pollution of each day. I replaced it by this fear which we could lose forever. It is sharper, stronger than this verb to like than I hate, hate, if easy to use but who will never summarize what I felt when I failed to lose you.
Lire la suiteThe prohibited stage
How much time did I say you not to go up at the top of the staircase? So often that I remember it more. But, it was necessary that you go there. It was stronger than you. Prohibition was a call to disobedience. You were to assemble the steps of this last stage which you stays refused. You always said that you would not do it. I did not believe myself. I know your nature, your desire to force the closed doors to exist in the refusal to obey. But to obey, it was you to protect, avoid you suffering because I know that up there on the last floor what you will find there is not for you. You are so fragile, if vulnerable. But perversity to assemble the steps to was strongest. You put your hand on the wood slope, posed your foot on the first walk. It occurred anything. It could nothing occur if it is not that I surprise you. But, that was impossible you expected my departure. Then, free, you climbed each walk with like a release. In the large elbow of the staircase, you saw the slightly opened door, the light coming from the outside. I knew that you would come. As much to rather receive you with an open door than closed because you would have still returned still and so much so that becomes an obsession. Also, you crossed the elbow of the staircase. You arrived in top. You pushed the door. There was behind the vacuum of uninhabited parts. Nothing. You remained quiet leaving the mark of your steps on the dust of this apartment where I do not go any more. I trusted you. I believed you able to resist the trap of a dream of tale for children. You believed to find Beard Blue, the corpses of his wives. You were afraid of my return whereas you crossed the door of my interdict. Poor insane. Your fear was the containing hydrocarbon one of your disobedience. You wanted to have shivers. Didn’t you find that disappointment with your waiting and a question why of having prohibited to me to go up? This interrogation haunts to you now. More than to go up up there towards the prohibited stage. Never you will know that it was about a trap that I tightened you. Te do you remember in this furtive way with which you answered my question, “you spent a good afternoon?” Not, you do not remember any more a tone lie. Me, if, I remember the mark of your steps on the floor of the last stage as the single proof that I will be able to never trust to you. It was the direction of my interdict and all the value of your promises…
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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 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.
Lire la suiteTears of rain
The sky was of gold. Magic, splendid beautiful. In the distance, black clouds accumulated. They grew bigger, being stretched around the cathedral, coming to choke the gold nuggets. The pressure went up little by little. The gold nuggets sought to flee. They struggled this so particular bright light of the last glare of the day. But the surrounding of the black clouds intensified unrelentingly. The anguish was done throbbing. I was impotent spectator in front of this announced death. Stupidly, I tightened the hand of an involuntary gesture. Why did I do it? I do not know anything of it. My finger touched the sky, bursting the gold bubble which had been formed. Then this continuous luminous flood spouted out coming to cover the cathedral. In the sky, the clouds were gone from there crying of rain
Lire la suiteWhen you were the colossus…
What did it arrive at your legendary force, your disproportionate power, you it colossus of power and force? I remember these moments, where raising the rocks of your projecting muscles, you forced admiration. Your valiancy, your courage were legendary. You did not have limits. Ultimate stage of the perfection, you were an example. You were so much of things. You were especially the colossus. This simple word imposed the respect. There was only you able to carry this qualifier. It represented you. He was you. But, today, that did you become? With your bandaged eyes, your lowered nape of the neck, your crushed muscles, you are nothing any more but the statue of your glorious last. What a shame! What a waste! Who suited to subject thus? I do not dare to imagine it, you it servile and cheap prone free spirit become. Would you have lost the word? It seems it. Moreover nobody wants to hear your whispered explanations, your badly assumed excuses. One cannot see this image which disturbs. One wants to remember your glorious last where you did not lower the head, where you advanced the head high, ready to raise so much of challenges. These days are yesterday when you walked heavily of the weight of your perfect muscles and that you were called the colossus…
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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
