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gothique et romantique

One month ago one year I do not know more

Publié le 3 Sep 2014

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One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The vacuum and nothing came to replace our dashes. On banks of our walks to the son of the years. Gently, so slowly, hanging time. With the wild spines of pinks. Pushing at the edge of the beaches. Girdling our castle made sleepy in the black. Bordered of ciels nostalgic deadening our evenings. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. Imagining a life enters the walls. Kings, queens having proud paces. Horses gallopping on banks. Gone up by knights with the colors sharp. Moving away while shouting. In the disappearing distance. Leaving a spellbinding silence. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The water cherished by the wind. Waves being formed. Arriving wind. Of a sweeping reverse. Images of an attractive world. Where we walked merrily. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The sand of our mirages between the fingers was gone from there. The castle did not change. The pinks continue to push. Their spines to prick. Only, we evolved in the mirror of a time come to erase us. Giving to our silhouettes more clearness. Diffuse, they frayed. Transparent, forgotten. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. Remain only the decoration of our dreams. The days which are repeated without truce. Lovers who haunt the strikes. Before all is not completed. In a short history. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more.

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

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