Mardi 10 novembre 2009 2 10 /11 /Nov /2009 00:01
Sometimes you look at somebody and you can feel the person's crack-ups. Inside. Under your own skin. You just look at this human being and you think : life has not been treating him/her well.It might be a minor detail, a soft indifference to anything, the way the person answers "yes" like if he/she was already far away, beyond his own control, submitted to life and roughness, not endowned any more with any kind of human will. The way the person will run too fast if you ask for something, the way the person will look at you too slowly like if he/she may need some time to come back to a disdained reality. And nevertheless you can hear this hearbeat, irregular like an old familiar instrument, you can notice that beginning of a tiny smile coming out of the blue, just like this, like an old friend sitting on the edge of the mouth, and you have no idea where the light may come from, nor how fragile this shimmering light could be, you just feel the vibration. With relief, the thought that jumps to your mind, at this precise moment, is as simple as it can be : "Still alive".

I call them fallen angels.

Par ANNE DENIAU aka ANN RAY - Publié dans : history - 0 Comments - Write a comment
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