English Version
gothique et romantique

Eve remember

Publié le 5 Sep 2012

A garden, a basin, one small hour. A garden, a basin, one evening without a future. Your empty chair. I remember. The feature of your pencil on the photograph of our memories, this exaggerated sun, its disproportionate glares. Made Up, transformed, your drawing ridiculed it. Us with. You wanted it, one needed it. Transfigured, this sun carbonized, erased, eradicated our truths. Two empty chairs. Ashes of what we were.  Two beings in a garden in the small hour or the one evening abandonment without a future. That did not have importance, we liked. I believed it. , Sitting You in front of the basin. Me in withdrawal. I always liked our garden. Return. Erase photograph, these clouds, this sun, gives me one starlight night, make me hear the sound of the very close sea. I need to dream. I hate you. Yes, I hate you. For the evil that you made us. Was it Necessary that you are caught for god? We were so well in our garden. But the demon of temptation dozed in you with deepest. It was necessary that you cheeks of the pencil on the web skies. Our memories, our pleasures, you very modified with leisure. Free, stupidly. Yes, I hate you. To Vomit for all to leave, very to tell you. You will not listen to me. Turned back. Thus, you were. Your face, never I did not see it. But your chair was occupied. Accompanied, I felt secure. Very to tell you, it is to acknowledge itself that during these long years of loneliness you saved to me. That was enough for me. Te to say it would have caused to offend you. Did you understand It by leaving our garden, by destroying the softness of this small hour to offer the one evening without a future to me insurance? I return in the night. I feel it. I defend myself some. However, it is thus, it does not have there more room with the dream, with this garden, its basin. I do not run after you. Goes to the devil, you deserved it well. The sun definitively will burn the remainders of our largely consumed life. And then? But, it will not touch with the memory of this marvellous garden where the mornings were made days of following days. Our most invaluable good. Eve remember…

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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