The first sun of the world rising.

I would like to remember me these words which made us shiver. Sat on the beach, in front of the foaming sea. To play to be made fear. Until the end of the night. Swept by the beam of the large white headlight. Being spread out over the sea of gray clouds. You saw there the trace of faces of the past. You told me their history. Ridges of soft words to the bitter tears. Whose lapse of memory erased the sound of their voices. There remains nothing any more but you. To make them speak. On the sky of a partition cherished by the sound watering of a languorous piano. There is also a violin which cries the loneliness of its trouble. We were well both. Joined, one with the other. Loans to be shivered. Under the cold wind come from the ocean. There was with far the boats which pitched. Dancing on the complaint of waves breaking while foaming. Your helping hand to retain them, carry them. In sand, end of the finger, I drew the face of your heart. If complex. Carved by tortures of your devils. Set ablaze in the heat of your passions. I shivered. Frightened. I was there too for that. To hear the howl of the wind. To Feel the face to burn by the sand punctures. To protect Me along you. To Like that. Without understanding. Without seeking to understand. Until the end of the night. Beyond the cold, sleep, of this inexorable fight against the numbness. I wanted to resist. At your sides. To see the first sun of the world rising. You promised to me that it was going to arrive.