They say

I'm so badass walking in the cold carrousel of the wind. I'm not a nice girl, I'm not fine. It's a masquerade. I'm waiting for the end, walking straight ahead. My hands are frozen, my hair is a messy halo around my head. I hear a strange melody at dusk. It's just the wind, they say.

I follow the sidewalk. Silently, strong, astray. I'm just a strange girl, they say. I wish you could see me right now. Walking in the growing darkness. In my eyes a clear madness. The wind is whipping me, but I stand still, unwavering. Sorrow Street is my ground. It's my creepy inner world dancing around.

It's not a beautiful day, they say. But they can't feel the wind. They can't touch the cold as I do. They don't hear my melody. I sing softly, and they call it lunacy. But it's so fragile, so pretty. They'll never know what really means to be strong. The end is my world, and dusk is my playground. It's a creepy carrousel, but they can't hear a sound.

Marie T., 26 avril 2013