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Songe is a shadow

calling for reverie

for calm

It lives in space. Takes a walk. Dozes

Copyright photo: Julien Hayard

Vibration. Agitation. Softness

- What time is it?

- I don't know

- What year is this?

- Who cares? Listen. Watch. Feel.


- So?

- So nothing .


It is smooth. A curve, another and it rolls

- Emptiness fills me with anguish.

- For me it's the stillness. The halt. The nothingness. When there is emptiness there is a space to delimit it. A body to make it live.

Stagnation is the end of everything. The absence of life. It is the long pause of a mute. The long silence of the deaf. And the patience of an old man.

Like me.

- And you ... What are you waiting for?


Pulsating, bubbling, wrinkling.

- Did you hear that?

No, what?

- Nothing

Quaking, crackling, whistling

- It must feel in the womb of your mother

I mean. Safe. Peaceful.

- Probably. I don't remember.

- Well let's change?

- Why not?

- Yes yes my turn.

Static, excitement, nervousness

Ah yes. I feel good here. I forget everything. I'm far from everything. Nothing moves. Time doesn't run. Nothing wriggles. No one bothers me.

I'm naked and I am not ashamed. I stripped and I feel good.

My frailty rushes to an absolute calm. eternal.

Velvety, fine, delicate

Increasingly small. Increasingly far.

And then nothing.

© copyright: All rights reserved: Félicie Eymard 2021

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