The heat of your hand

You wanted that I come with you to admire the cathedral, his turns, this sky which surrounds its arrows. You told me that there was an environment, “a heart”. I listened to you of a discrete ear, without really paying attention to your statement. You annoyed me but I did not say it. You insisted wearying me, exasperating me. However, you pushed me outside. You drew me, involved, taking to me the hand for the first time. I liked. I did not say myself it. By decency, out of fear of breaking the magic of this moment? We arrived on the place. I raised the head, considering the twin towers, sisters identical to the parents without imagination.  I kept the heat of your hand in mine. That held me more with heart. I told you that I liked the vision of this cathedral whereas I thought only of you. You told me that I lied, that I had come only to please to you. Disappointed, you released me the hand. You took it again never again.