Hiver

Possibility

He called. He discovered the lie who I was. Exchanged words, realized imposture. The love had settled down, beautiful and completed. The beautiful utopia ! This heat burned me and tore me the interieur when I imagined the evil which it tried and the questions that he had to settle. "Who was she ?" Really, I was what we call the transparent person. The one who does not mark, the one who does not please, the one who does not amuse the poignant world in which we can be. This world which I do not like. I built up to myself all the same the illusion to be a part of it. I was the other one to interest and to seduce them finally. I am sad, mixed up, disgraceful. Ignoble to impose to this boy the image which I gave myself. He believed in us, one us artificial and impalpable that he loved so much. I saw a game, weak and disgusting, to be supposed to be for the one that I was not, the one that I shall never be. But the dependence its words made me continue. He brought me the châleur which I did not have. Unfortunate. Dissatisfied and once again sad bus always this imagination call back to me the being sincere that it was. In a state of imcopréhension, he had to wonder "but who was she ?". Indefatigably redundant question and which unintentionally killed, collapsed, destroyed our story. I had creased the negative details, honoured the most positive to create a person fictitiously perfect, in yours profil. Horribly correct character, character terribly kind, deceptively beautiful character.