I am in nostalgia mode… (It is the fault with the song which I have just heard)
I miss Ca,
them crèpes of my large mother,
them récrations pockets full with balls,
them insane laughter at the bottom of the class
them white vats (And days of results of truth)
- Your hand in mine
- Odor of the ocean
- But also that of the incense
- The hope sometimes, when every days resemble one Sunday
Yes,
I miss Ca
- My room of teenager,
- And also my appart of coed,
sand it, the wind the Seagulls (subliminal Message)
- And then savours of the East…
It is idiot but it is like that,
There are things of which one remembers low,
- Dad who reads me a history,
- Your first glance on the world when one you ace paused on me
them duties of holidays, which I did not finish,
them holidays in the USA
- But also in Pas-de-Calais,
-… On the beach, the club mickey
- Your first “I love you”
- Your heat,
- And then his too
- Our memories
believed which do not exist any more, that one immutable,
this which still perspires in us… Despite everything…
It is like that,
There are things which miss…
And others not…
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