I wrote silences
The word doesn’t count. The word is a breach, the soul’s nostalgia. Protected by its bubble, it aims from the tips of my wings and pierces without a trace.
I ask myself. How to retain it, and let it bloom and germinate?
The word could count, its light fraying on the summits of their conscience. Yes, but then I would not be writing silences, and mortals would know how to find each other, between pain and passion, and shout out their sentimental incontinence, their hatred and their pride.
What to do ?
The word doesn’t count. I love the peace that clings to hearts, suspended on my wings.
Let’s write and put silence to action.

Bronze 33,5 X 20 cm