Under the white light.

I expected you under the white light. That which lights the ensign of the household linen. There, where you told me that one day we would buy ours. I did not believe there. I did not show myself it. You had the right to dream. To tell me all these projects which you made. For us, our future. They was good to hear them. You were in peace. I listened to you. We were so well. That was enough for me the morning. When, I came to join you, that we walk hand in the hand. I knew that you could for one nothing ignite you. A character of fire. For a word of too. For a contradiction. Contrary to your passion. As yesterday. Where I was the wrong to contradict you. To like, it is also to have the right all to say. Without retaining itself. I thought it. You did not accept it. However, there were nothing bad. But, for you, it is not as that which that was to occur. To love you. It is you to wish. At the point to sacrifice its ideas to honor you. I did not do it. I expected you under the white light. Knowing that you would not come. Too much proud. I remained. Nothing to regret. The store was closed. Letting the white light flood me. In the reflection of the window. I saw my sad mine there. Above, the ensign of the household linen. There, where you thought that we could, one day, to buy ours. I know now that you will come there with another.