* * Since I am fearful
I walked right on the way home, I walked right, sure of my steps, eyes planted on the horizon, breath quiet, straight hair, I walked calmly over the cobbles polished neither hot nor cold, just room temperature. I proceeded step by step, in penance, and the forest was far behind me, I think, far behind me.
And then, how do you say, and then you pushed me and in the scramble, you took my hand you were coming in the opposite direction on the path and in the scramble, how do you say, you've iced my hand. I was frozen there all surprised that cold in my hand was burning all my limbs and my head exploded. I was frozen there, like myself once cracked like mud undergoes differences in weather. I was frozen there and I took your hand on the way my legs and replaced the fuel transfused. And I follow you now, I'm, I'm hooked, I'll am aware, disheveled, speechless, eyes planted on the back of your head, behind your eyes planted on the horizon. And it's not that I do not like, it's not that I do not like to trust your voice, your warmth and your cold recraquelée me to put my feelings in all interstices I plugged gaps before the stampede. Not that I do not like, your hair in my horizon or your shoulders for any indication. But what I have left to me, when you let my hand on the way that I would not recognize from watching your neck? What is left for me to me when I have longer enough momentum to force me to trace your footsteps? You'll be there, you, to teach me to walk without you? What is left for me to me when you'll have more need of me?
What I have left to me when I must be a woman without a man, when I'll have to relearn how to move forward on the right path, sure of my steps, eyes planted on the horizon, the wind calm , flat hair? What will I use the feminine here, this burst balloon that had so much fun? Take me there again beat me and I swell with block patches? Should this time to take another path, another path that you, before the puncture, before reaching the horizon?
I have no answers to that, you know, no answer to that. Then I shake your hand for you not the cowards and I shake so hard I shake again until you stop you until you let go of you and resume my route on the cobblestones polished - and under anesthesia.
0 comments:
Post a Comment