Modifié le : 2019/08/07

I swal­lowed the light. It was so brief, caught up in the clouds. It will come back since every­thing even­tu­al­ly comes back. In fact, tomor­row, the weath­er wiz­ards are telling us. And, strange­ly enough, I’m going to a funer­al this Sat­ur­day. Yin-yang. A 35-year-old cousin died in his bed from a heart attack. Yang-yin.

The light is a demon, the shad­ow its cheer­ful sis­ter. They roll on the land of our souls, mate, naked and fero­cious. And we absorb, leaves that fade so quick­ly, the sweat of their fury.