The ash of your memories

The sun entered imperceptibly. As the tide goes up the gray sand plains to the white dunes of light. Shades of this morning infiltrating on the dark extent of the night, it was introduced from the top of the abbey one by the oozing highest stained glass on the pillars, flooding the heart, the spans. It settled pushing back in the corners obscure the last tears of night. You entered. In full sun. This clearness obstructed you. Your eyes blinked. You deviated. Small timid silhouette. Along a large white wall you settled. Knelt, prostrate, to cry. To request? You have between your hands these some lines where he says to leave you. You do not believe in it. You cannot believe it. You hang up again yourself with a hope. That to mislead you, to be in a bad dream, you will awake. Yes, to awake you. To Open the eyes, to be in full light, in this abbey where you so often came to walk you. To look at children running, continuing between the benches and the chairs, thinking, hoping that one day yours will do as much very of it. The time ago of the certainty, that of the insurances then this word, these some lines which come all to break. You will have to be raised. To drive out the night which was introduced into your life, to let extend time from the shades before is born the day from another following day. You know it. You are afraid not to be able to wait. It is you frightens. To tighten the hand with the light, to steal a piece of day, to leave this wall which supports your sorrow, to release taken, to launch out, forget, force themselves to do it. The force is in you. You came to seek it on the ash of your memories