English Version
gothique et romantique

Teddy bears

Publié le 21 Nov 2013

romantisch, gothique, romantique, gotisch, rêve, fantastique, fantastisch, sombre, dunkel, traum, romántico, gótico, soñado, oscuro, fantástico, romantico, gotico, sognato, scuro, fantastico, porte, eau, pierres, , eau, see, mer, cimetière, croix, poème d’amour, lettre d’amour, roman gothique, poème romantique, lettre romantique, poème gothique, gothique et romantique, larme, église gothique, mélancolique, mélancolie, nuit, night, dark, sombre, memories, souvenirs, melancoly

Remember these wooden horses. Letting you carry by the swirl of their horse-gear. Yes, remember. We went there by times of snow. Hand in hand giving of the kicks in the water puddle pools. Laughing, speaking high. You circling, me looking at itself. To make drunk You the body and the head. From these days repeating itself in a spirit of festival. We took the time, all our time. Without anybody to expect us or seek to understand us. A day ago, of night, nor even of trouble. We were alone in the large park with the closed grids being used to protect us. To remain with the shelter in our life. Different to be abandoned children. Dreaming You of a teddy bear that you could cuddle. Me, dreaming to offer it to you. Not having neither money, nor means of entering the store, just the only desire. To satisfy you. We returned from the park while passing in front of the window to the deadened bears. We looked them like children, them finding beautiful and mutineers. We observed them under the light believed until the morning. We were not there to see them to wake up nor to stretch itself. There remained only the power to think them. Rising, happy to find itself between of the same brothers and sisters destiny. Their life was a little ours, giving them names, nicknames. Without us to ask the question of knowing if the cold, the hunger could gain them. They were like us them children of a history without name. Like the division of a form of reason. They became close to us so far where one of them disappeared. I saw you. To Cry. To Touch by the absence of the missing. As if you had lost a brother or the memory of a father. I sought in the reflection of the pane your face, my image. There was nothing to see.  As the bears we do not have history. Carrying the fate of dead children.

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

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