Who remembers me where I am? Who knows what I lived where I am ... In the heavy silence of non-life that clings to me, and that keeps me standing?
Hands in the back, I have no one to press against my heart, then my arms and my hands, I do not know what to do.
Who knows I exist? My eye looks for images of the past, voices or even family friendly faces, my face ... My voice I do not know even the sound power of silence.
I see nothing except the strange light of day I was born perceived as a hope, perhaps it is the glow that comes from death deliver me from this haunting indifference.
I hope for more, so I can breathe again because I do not know die. Please forgive me, it is perhaps too early? I do not know, I do not know why I'm still here! My parents, yes, perhaps? My children perhaps? My friends ... Who? I do not remember either ... What good look out the window? Even the seasons have the same color, same perfume, same dawn to dawn, that of forgetting, silence, solitude.
You see! You forgot me ... I also think I forgot who I was and who you are for all this time I'm there to watch you.
as I move my arms, my hands, my fingers in a gesture of welcome and embrace you ... You ... You touch tighten against me ... I might be less cold in the heart, and less ashamed to exist.
You who believe in Santa Claus, tell him how much I would be convinced of its existence if it was a small tower outside my window. Ask him to give me a little wave of his white-gloved hand, and I would feel not to be transparent and perhaps a little star lit up my eyes ... I beseech you, give him my letter . THANK YOU.
SIMINOWICZ Robert St. Denis Sur Loire (41) Hands in the back, I have no one to press against my heart, then my arms and my hands, I do not know what to do.
Who knows I exist? My eye looks for images of the past, voices or even family friendly faces, my face ... My voice I do not know even the sound power of silence.
I see nothing except the strange light of day I was born perceived as a hope, perhaps it is the glow that comes from death deliver me from this haunting indifference.
I hope for more, so I can breathe again because I do not know die. Please forgive me, it is perhaps too early? I do not know, I do not know why I'm still here! My parents, yes, perhaps? My children perhaps? My friends ... Who? I do not remember either ... What good look out the window? Even the seasons have the same color, same perfume, same dawn to dawn, that of forgetting, silence, solitude.
You see! You forgot me ... I also think I forgot who I was and who you are for all this time I'm there to watch you.
as I move my arms, my hands, my fingers in a gesture of welcome and embrace you ... You ... You touch tighten against me ... I might be less cold in the heart, and less ashamed to exist.
You who believe in Santa Claus, tell him how much I would be convinced of its existence if it was a small tower outside my window. Ask him to give me a little wave of his white-gloved hand, and I would feel not to be transparent and perhaps a little star lit up my eyes ... I beseech you, give him my letter . THANK YOU.
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