L'Oubli

She walks, slow as if out of sync
Endures her body, all its movements
She looks outside to see if the weather is nice
From the armchair to the couch
From the armchair to the couch

No one left to take care of
Just one cup to get out in the morning
For her, nothing is really quite the same as before
From the armchair to the couch
From the armchair to the couch

The forgetfulness
The forgetfulness like a dead end on hurtful actions
The forgetfulness as she moves her past, her sadness
Forgetfulness is on the surface what makes us suffer
But it's inside what makes her hold on

She's still so beautiful in the moment
In her black hair, not a single white hair
She accepts her fate, her memory slipping away
From the past to the present
From the past

I talk with her about everything, about nothing
About her childhood, that, that she remembers
But the bouquet of roses that I just brought
Only the scent will remain
But the image vanished

The forgetfulness
The forgetfulness like a dead end on hurtful actions
The forgetfulness as she moves her past, her sadness
Forgetfulness is on the surface what makes us suffer
But it's inside what makes her hold on

The forgetfulness
The forgetfulness like a dead end on hurtful actions
The forgetfulness as she moves her past, her sadness
Forgetfulness is on the surface what makes us suffer
But it's inside what makes her hold on

Forgetfulness breaks her heart
So that nothing remains
Forgetfulness like a savior
It's a blessing in disguise
Forgetfulness is a space that no one understands
But for her, it's the place where finally her soul takes back