Le Quotidien
it's not like in a dream a neatly crafted fantasy a gesture, a voice, le quotidien the person in the room who fills the heart it's almost like a memory a desire burning at odd hours longings crafted by the senses a name whose presence comes and rests upon the soul the force one can't describe a flashing thunder at twilight yet gentle and soothing like an early morning dew quenching the spirit's thirst