Do you really want to read me?

Photo by Mr. Cup / Fabien Barral on Unsplash

It’s midnight. The twelve knocks sound at the church tower of Malestroit. This church, where I understood a few hours ago, in front of Robert’s coffin, that I am a widow. Widowed. This building is both Romanesque and Gothic. In his image, our couple was strong and cheerful.

I’m not lying yet. I’m not sleepy. Why stay in bed with your eyes wide open! So, I’m tidying up. Finally, I occupy my insomnia. I try to…