a school bench .. small. those that you hate so much because you never comfortable with the swing chair. a glance at the silent phone.
nothing.
nothing to a tacit agreement made reluctantly.
turn a page of the book you are reading. in French, for fear of forgetting the language of lisp and made them strange.
nothing there, either.
has finished the book.
're looking for something to do to distract, not to feel time passing like a stone .. but in the backpack, made in a hurry the night before, did not enter your inseparable week puzzles.
nothing.
fuck. attracts you the look that diary bought about a year ago. chosen by someone else who still knew your taste: Smemoranda , blablabla ... Do you remember that day that you bought .... and nothing in your heart.
only indifference.
'the indifference the negligence, font parfois beaucoup plus de dégats
que l' hostile declarée ... "
the old, wise Dumbledore you bequeathed a phrase for this moment.
browse through the diary .. old tasks never performed, written sentences jet between love and despair, forgotten birthdays and numbers that you would like to forget .
nothing interesting there, either.
see you huffing and put up the journal in your rucksack, but you drop something. a package of folded to 4 ..
you bend to pick them indifferent. open them. smile. are the mail a few months ago .. I barely remember having printed. Your eyes run faster between the letters in black ink and blue ..
sweet memories resurface. and even a little of nostalgia. for the ingenuity and the complicity of the first letters of the first issue together.
puts them in his pocket, almost scared to forget them again.
look up and you start playing with the prof. after an hour and a half to complete your resume without a part of the lesson.
and smile. and not only with his lips. but also with the heart.
"where there was nothing there all hours"
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