is when the snow crunches under our feet, when the lights the daily flood our city as we strive to not see redundant. There by the land so exhilarating time of year? My mind is like a slight tendency to m'éprend banter. Silent nights, hot wine, sanctity of the stars; tournoyons together and in unison we now enchant the gifts. The reality is born the dream. The dream is fantasy.
When the snow settles, romance weary. Reminiscences of slippery sidewalks on which I had to hold up the walls ... And kisses winter give birth in the streets, they leave me cold. The heart is a drum that goes out, and moaning. Exhale the smoke mingles with the steam I am. How funny, do not you think? Being there comes, by the darkened streets of my small intestine, find me in this infernal city as a prisoner of an endless labyrinth. A Jekyll into Hyde, two minds in one body diverge. And I try, I'm struggling against that? against what? Why? Mary, I'm afraid ... I mean Children sing, listen to their jingle bell angels: so many sounds are in me further echoes the cry and ice from the last tear. I'll pass this
first Christmas of our lives to the order of things, since it must be. I'll go drink our love infirm. This is when the snow crunches under my feet, pile up in a wave that comes back to me deleterious condition of my cage of ivory. The best show and offered to place under my eyes from alienated spectator, life embraces the fall, but I think the winter, my life, I imagine, must have some banned Christmas, far from this dead city far from everything, far from here. And far from me.
Journal , Sebastian Asran Zala Charles
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