#contemplation.

All of his energy has been more focused on more emotional pursuits. Composing new music, learning to paint, mending old clothes, writing, reading old journals. It's all contemplative, more sentimental than he's used to.

Gods, he misses her. Everything ties back to her. Writing and composing grief, doing messy portraits from memory, fixing her old dresses.

But it wasn't just her, was it? No. Far from it. How many died because of his instruction, because he was so blinded by his own light to see anything else? God. Too many.

He remembers the desperate, frantic denial, going underground, some hope that enough rest would heal. She couldn't have been gone. No, they were supposed to take the world together. It would be theirs.

How many days must he spend curled up around these bones before the guilt goes away? Time won't go back, her arms won't wrap around him again. The house will always hold this distinct silence, her voice won't ring in the halls. Her knife will no longer scrape his skin.

Poète: Victor Hugo – Arnaud Mattei

  Pensée et esprit, étrange prémonition de ton nom,                         Destin d’une gloire reçue en hommage de la Nation.                                  Les pages du temps passé nous firent une offrande,                                  De mots tonnerres qui, des siècles furent légende !            D’apophtegme en aphorisme, tes sentences vérité             Aux épiques rugissements…

Le lointain est dans le si proche – Arnaud Mattei

  L’horizon de ses yeux cherche dans le regard du profond,                                     La réponse aux incertains de son demain, il se morfond !                          La clarté du tunnel est au bout de la question éternelle,                                         Elle est la sombre lumière des demains qui étincellent.                                          Se poser, s’interroger sur…