Lorsque le soleil se couche, comme avec précaution, aux côtés du fragile horizon, la lumière devient aussi nourrissante que la table que l'on saura dressée à son retour.
Là, dans la courbe reposantes des rondeurs repues, même ce qu'il peut y avoir de plus sombre devient aimant, dans la réalité d'un instant immédiat si dense, qu'il repousse toute perspective douloureuse.
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