First accident

June 29th, 2012

She said, I will go, and, me being silent, there she went. Away her way disappeared. The decaying memory produced a sentence like a sound of a cello, which, as a lightning, hid in the cloud of the night.
She said, before she went, she had to go, me, silent again, nothing to interrupt the disjunction. It was heard, the sound of a cello, right beneath shiny autumn leaves, decaying, memoryless, pure, without any promise.
She said, I’m leaving, before she went, me silent as one is supposed to be, and there it was: the sound of the cello, oscillating in calm and insisting, a song of peace and resistance.
I was not in love with the war she wanted to unleash.

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