rask_balavoine
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Immortal and wet.
She took my picture in the shower when I was twenty one. She showed it in a gallery. Her friends admired me on the wall till I was twenty five. Then...
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- 48 reads
The only man in the convent.
Fiacre gets off his bike and leans on it to watch the beginning of another day, the making of a morning. Not the slightest, quietest breeze rises to...
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- 170 reads
I do enjoy a good enigma.
Autumn turns to winter. 1986. Paris, Rue Daguerre to be more precise, and at dusk towards the end of a cold November day. Chestnuts roasting on a...
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- 3 comments
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- 475 reads
If only.
I bared myself to the doctor today: body, mind and soul. He’s new to the job, very young and most thorough, but he’s earned my confidence and trust...
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- 2 comments
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- 413 reads
Forget the memory.
Tonight, from a cluttered little graveyard of regrets and remorse, I exhume a melancholy memory inlaid with semi-precious stones. When the dirt it...
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- 439 reads