when I sink everything is clear from the bottom to the surface shining in the winter sun but when I left I'm still a little there to watch the blue sky that unfolds in the morning to stay in the air the day, in that moment I spend in the room, she is still sleeping , I did not wake up not to break the pleasure of seeing her asleep, and then everything goes , time is destroyed, it will not return, c is an empty question, it does not repair , it remains for years in a drawer that does not displease me because I hate that instead express objects in a window so they can be see their uselessness , but which is , I am careful not to lose his footing knowing who I am and without complaining of not being Lord Byron, because what I do is round , not the knife , a small kind of yellow adornment, but to this place I call what, I stick an instrument of power , I see Marshal at the back , saying that he should go ahead and ending my life in a castle of Indre et Loire , but the dream ends, I do not like orders preferring tea time , it is a passage in the roof to a lucky flowers, a bit like the best restaurants when the very rich will eat delicious food , it does not interest me, what I like is sausage and red wine, after I hear bells, is it already time to break the bread, I 'm not sure I understand the message because I have an idea to go to an alternative , more accessible, less winter, but in addition to that for the three it should be done with white sauce otherwise it is can happen to hear is furtive noise, hiding behind curtains , not to confront the magic moment