Cet amour-là

"Elle dit: non, ne pleurez pas, ce n'est pas triste, en rien, en aucun cas. Il s'agit de vous et de pas vous, oubliez votre personne, ça n'a aucune importance. Il ne faut pas se prendre pour un héros. Vous êtes rien. C'est ce qui me plaît. Restez comme ça. Ne changez pas. Restez. On va lire ensemble."

Yann Andréa

And when I see


Life is only true in the tiny stories
A burnt coffee that tastes like honey
The fabric of your flesh extended to a blanket
The solemn purity of your childish smile
The fingers I so desperately want to grasp
Because I am one of those horrible those
Who need people to belong to one another
Afraid of freedom and secrets and nooks and
Who see dirty darkness heavy and cold and moist

Walking on the pavements at night is the only way people fight
Braving the cold wind dancing in the streets
In case a car or a bus decided today
Was the last

The voice in my chest screams those nights
Louder than any other night
Incapable of moving my hips
Unable to
All those things I need and want to do

And you will never know how it feels to see a movie
With my story, the same old story, being told as a lie
While sitting next to you and not knowing how to say
Man it’s so funny it’s the reason I can’t say

And when I see how much you remind me of things I’ve already seen and done
And when I see how dead my body and my feelings are
And when I see how many other men
And when I see

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