Aquelles Petites Coses

One always thinks that time and absence will wither them away. But their train now leaves, now returns... They are those little things that a time of roses left us in a corner, on a paper, or in a drawer.
Patiently, they haunt you like that thief behind a door. They hold you captive under their feet like dead leaves that the wind lifts up here and there. They soar sadly everywhere and make us cry without warning when no one sees us...