i don’t remember anymore if we’d sat in silence
or if we’d whispered down there at the café,
but i recall quite well the table and your hands,
the tea, the coffee, and the sugar on the side.
it left a wound, so very crushing,
you didn’t understand, the world spun past us,
but between us, balance fled,
never again peaceful, we’d fallen from the wire.
that afternoon there, on la rue du jourdain,
could not have gone well,
sitting on the terrace of the café
that you could see across from our apartment
we, miserably, inside.
Yann Thiersen/la terrasse