From behind the glass, he sees the moon.
The Star exactly within the extension of the Sun and the planet Earth, it is a full moon that is exposed to his eyes. He sees her, she and she alone, ignoring the stars who surround him, subjugated by his imposing clarity. Its craters and his dark side have no secret for him, any more than this history of foot, asked forever on this floor to clay, and no wind will never erase.
Hands on the glass he knows unalterable, one who doesn't have a name looks at the world from the outside. He sees much better that with his eyes Misty with tears, he sees beyond appearances. He doesn't know how, never knew and will probably never know. The only thing he knows, in fact, is that's the only thing he could ever do: see.
A huge cloud of night mist flies to begin the oval Moon in the sky. It's a cannibal cloud, born of a sudden rise in temperature of a sea surface current, in the heart of the Pacific ocean. He wandered into the stratosphere for weeks, before arriving here, in front of his window, to gloat over the image of the moon.
Who doesn't have a name both would be able to break the glass, to dismiss this odious cloud of his moon. His fists clenched to impotence, testify to his frustration. A still larger, more insidious frustration, day after day and night after night. Coming out of here someday? Is there really a world for him, beyond the glass? As far as he can remember, its glass prison was always there, allowing him to look outside to better deny. And, if it has a name, it's because there has never been anyone to offer him one.
He closes his eyes, stifling sobs who overwhelm it to the memory of this moment, so rare, where someone had seen him. Someone who lived the other side of the glass. It was a hot day, at the heart of the summer, in a french Park. His name was Kevin, measured less than a meter, crying often at night because he was teething. His mother then took it in his arms, her pampering the front of his kisses. She smelled like vanilla and slight dimples of compassion appeared on her cheeks when she murmured against the front of Kevin tenderness. Yes, that afternoon, the baby had it. Suddenly, he had set his small grey eyes on him and a surprised expression was painted slowly on her young face. And then the woman to the smell of vanilla had arrived, took him in his arms, to take her away from one who has no name and that she could not see.
Without energy, he struck his fist against the window.
Tiny tears tortuously along his cadaverous cheeks, lack of sunshine. In each of them, the Moon is reflected, with its billions of little sisters. The stars. One who has no name feels weak, now. A shuffling step, he approaches the bed without sheets which constitutes the unique furniture of this tiny room which he has never left. Is there affalant slowly, without conviction, he again Rob her eyes toward the window. He knows that he will not sleep, he didn't need. But it's a ritual for him, a way to combat this feeling of eternity that he experiences every moment. He would offer this entire eternity for a few minutes of life in freedom, behind the glass. Person, to his knowledge, never accepted this offer. Someone only heard it, to himself?
She is always impeccable, as transparent as the air of the Earth. He has never managed not just to write her off. Yet it is not for lack of trying. Impossible to break, remove, or even pull it out of its hinges. It is a window in the image of the sensation that accompanies every moment, eternal. Eternity without any other freedom that observe the infinity of ones that are denied to him.
One who has no firm name eyes on his fate, closes the mind that sees beyond appearances. On his closed face, the Moon is its light through the glass. You'd almost to compassion, understanding of a star dead for a creature who dream of living.
When he reopens his eyes, one who has no name realizes that the moon has abandoned him. Behind the glass, a morning sun shines on the Vanoise national park. Here and there, different species of protected animals are waking up. A deer snorts, next to a plant of forget-me-not. A little Ant bravely climbs out of the ground to warm its members, then go share warmth with her sisters. High in the sky, an Eagle pass in hovering. His gaze piercing already on the lookout for prey to offer her offspring in the nest, somewhere on the edge of a steep ledge.
Look amazed at the complexity of the living, sometimes cruel, but always beautiful and meaningful, beauty that has no name observes all this commotion, away from noisy cities. The effervescence of life. Life who always finds a way to trace constantly new. Life, this exponential freedoms generator.
Sitting cross-legged in the grass, she holds in his hands a block of blank papers.
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