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Rated: 18+ · Non-fiction · Biographical · #1361468
The power of a joyful sound
A sound.
All it needed for me to drown was just a sound. This sweet music, so joyful in my ears :

"j'suis resté qu'un enfant
Qu'aurais grandi trop vite
dans un monde en super plastique,
J'veux retrouver maman !
Qu'elle m'raconte des histoires, de Jane et de Tarzan,
De princesse et de cerf-volant, j'veux du soleil dans ma mémoir.
J'veux du soleil !"

The gypsy guitar, the deep hypnotising voice of the singer. Joyful. Innocent. And Yet...
Yet it awakened dead memories. It awakened all my senses i had tried to muffle, and to strangle 'till death : The bright sun of a sweet summer. The air full of kind friendship. Laughs in the ears.
And yet...
Yet This cloud in the sky. What was it doing there?
The smell. His smell, this is what evoked the song. A mixture of cold tobacco and newly washed clothes. So fresh and sweet at the time. And came the Images. The feelings.
A flash of surprise when I first saw him
Butterflies in my belly when every wednesday I went to see him
A smile dying on my lips when there was a hint of becoming friends.
My stomach turning upside down receiving a message from him
My thoughts centered on him. When will I see him again ?
His abscence sometimes also.
Very long abscence.
Not knowing what was becoming of him.
The rush of jalousy running in my blood when evoking other girls.
His head on my knees
His arm around my waist.
Resting from a long day's work : "You're a great pillow" would he say
My hand running in his long curled brown hair
Making out the features of his face
Going around his eyes, tracing softly his eyebrows.
and his ignorance. Deep hurtful ignorance. Days without acknowledgments. Without even looking at me. Ashamed of what he might be feeling for me ?
Having to adapt to his moods. Sometimes wanting me others not.
And one evening. One party. One event. Teasing me into fight. Pulling on my wrists. Pulling me over him. Our first kiss. my first taste of him. Cold tobacco. Fresh and clean. Gentle hands. "I'll call you"
He didn't.
A Blank.
Yearning for him.
Once or twice a month. He'd come for me. Never a word was uttered between us. Relationship made of silence. He'd abuse of me. trying to have me naked.
And I didn't even know if he truly loved me.
And one day it was over.
It was the end, of the cold tobacco , fresh smell. The end of the feeling of his body against mine, my hand in his hair. The end of the waiting, and the frustration.
It left me full
It left me empty.
I tried to kill it all
Until this music.




© Copyright 2007 French païenne (fofi at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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