sea stones

A cube full of sand, without water, full of grains of hope, of what remains of hope.

We were stones, made by so much grinding into thousands upon thousands of cells which, tired of wandering in a sea of indecision, have hope.

The right moment to become a sand castle: a stinging in the navel, a footprint, a forgetting, a corner to hide from fear, a mattress, a shout, a cry of freedom, with water or without.

And let the tide rise!