This begins again, the tireless feeling of unlive. Where to exist without definite purpose. It is nice love when everything goes well, it is magical at night when it falls and when its scintillating curtain mingles with her. 
It is terrible to have a billowy sleep and to wake up by jumping with a nightmare which is going to take place throughout your life, hung on a copper-coloured glassy container.
Et j'aime bien quand tu ecris en anglais.
voila c'est dit.