In the streets of our cities. Stray Statues. A name, a posture. Some scribbled words. On a stone, a cold and frozen plate. To remember. What did you exist? One says of you that you made. The beautiful ones and large things, which you had a weight in the city. I want to believe it. I do not seek to know. I accept this truth. Last years. Under snow and the cold. Time is spaced. At the point more to look at you. To pass to your feet. Completely detached. Did you only exist?
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J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
