The last Tear

The last Tear.

Of all of this that will happen later, the only my worry is the memory that will be had of me, if it will do me justice. The words all it takes is for explaining, I should tear me the soul and to give it in vision to this swarm of curious, tiredly annoyed of the life, always ready to judge the outside and never the inside. But nobody could ever interpret my life, nobody would be able I handed to my place and to understand, to understand what I was, what is and what is finally ready to complete.
These words are devoted to whom, away from the confusion,  has followed me in silence and with patience, taking me for as I have been, observing my various evolutions as the sky that it observes the leaves it moved from the wind. I don't have reproaches, neither repentances to be completed. Life is an instant along a life; in the life he is as an ear supported to a shell, ready to also feel the backwash to one hundred kilometers from the happiness and from the sea.
It is in this thought I lose me, and a tear ploughs my face, the last.
Life is an instant along a life, the life it is an instant, the time of a jump…
And looking this drop that falls free, I wonder me if it will arrive before me.