Jacques Prevert

broken mirror

That small man who always sang, that small man who danced in my head, that small man with youth undid his shoelaces and broke all the barracks of the festival, suddenly everything collapsed, and in the silence of the festival in the ruin of the festival I heard your happy voice, your voice so torn and fragile, innocent and desolate came from afar, and called me, and I put my hands on my chest where they trembled bloody seven broken pieces of mirror with your twinkling smile.

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