In the vault of our lapses of memory.

There is this a little fuzzy veil. Who darkens the memory. This small nothing which increases the distance between us. Drawing the slow movement. Goes and from comes. Between the morning and the evening. There is this veil to know more. Without being able to think that it is too late. Without managing to believe that it still remains of the hope. There is this veil which one cannot be unaware of. In order to make seeming. Masking exceeded time. Imperceptibly in the being shelled sand glass. Filtering the colors of our passion. Fallen with knees in front of the cross from the renouncement, abdication. There is this veil which one wove. By abandonment or will. History to flee behind the facility of what one wanted to be unaware of. There is this veil which one let tighten. To avoid splitting itself. Behind words of explanation, faces made up to mislead. White like false virginity. Our well-worn words. Polluted meaningless sentences. Having lost the heart of their petrol. There is this veil which protects our misted eyes. Not to have the courage to show them. For all to start again. It there this veil which it is not interdict to tear. Since it is necessary to us to find. Given up in the vault of our lapses of memory.  Veil that you could carry like a bride. Me, going to your sides.