There is this window, this grid. There is inside this other window open on which space? I will never know it. I always remained on the bad side of the wall vis-a-vis the grid, with the closed window. You do not open it. I imagine a dark, sad part where you do not come. You must live other side in the light. A garden, flowers, the sun, it is your universe. It is not any more mine since you isolated yourself from me. The bars of the grid are cold in spite of the heat of the last days. I touched them. I tried to draw above, imagining to twist them. Which madness? They are hard, stronger than me. You wanted them inviolable. They are it to protect you, to move away me from you. I saw your silhouette slipping furtively into the part, behind the window. I cannot affirm it. All went so quickly. I want to believe that it is you. But, I am not really certain. My memories mix. The doubt replaced my certainty. I am on the other side of the grid. The bad place if it is. That which you indicated me forever.
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
