A cry in the night

A cry in the night. Come from the bottom of darkness. Tearing off me from the bed. Violating my dormant dreams. In a funeral complaint. I thought of you. With your pains, with your sighs, these triviums which made your daily newspaper. With this life of which you wanted to pose the last point. I wandered. Parts in parts, the moon accompanying me. Clouds extinguishing it. With your research slowly. Without hope to find you. Without the need to deplore. Just to trail with this cry reasoning in my head. I wanted to believe that I had invented it. To give to me the impression of still living at your sides. I had learned how to hear your complaints, to understand them. Like codes established between us. To preserve this last space of intimacy that nobody could take. One tried to cheat with the others until the end. I managed from there to hope for your cries. To know that you breathed, that a breath traversed you. There remained to me only your hands to touch you, not to break you. There was no more that your eyes to point out the way to me in which you liked to look at me. A cry in the night. Come from the bottom of darkness. Tearing off me from the bed. Violating my dormant dreams. It is what it remains me to remember me. To cherish this melancholy of the days of rain. Where we linked ourselves. Through the fields and drills. Going, us mislaying behind the curtain of fog as shades. In search of our sun in these dark days. Only, abandoned with happiness to be itself found. I miss you. You know it. I say it enough to you. Your silences are the slap of your absence. It was imposed to us. By time, the erosion of our damaged carcasses. I do not have rancour. We knew that there would be a term with our happiness. I give up myself sometimes on your tomb. Of some tears, some flowers. With this insane idea that my sorrow will awake your heart.