Eternity [Poets Of The Fall] Français/English

[EN] 2 - Images (Given And Denied)

Olli was standing in front of the mirror in his living room. Concentrated, his attention was turned towards his hands, who were striving to tie the knot of the pale pink tie he wore around his neck. It was rare that he put this kind of outfit off the stage. Usually, it was simpler, but today was a special day.

The guitarist woke up early, after a sleepless night. Alone at home, he had left his mind to his dreams, his sweet memories, which he cherished above everything else. But that night, all this had taken on a more bitter taste. After several hours thus lost in the depths of his own self without closing his eyes, far from his eternal smile, alone in the dark, Olli had abandoned his attempts to sleep. That's right, he had not tried as hard as he could, but he had not wanted  to. It was still dark when he opened his curtains. The blond had gone into the kitchen, poured a coffee. He would need it today, there was no doubt in his mind. Usually, he kept a balance in his thoughts, preferring to enjoy as much as he could of his existence and keep in memory, not without intense nostalgia, memories he refused to become painful. Obviously, the blond had, in the past, gone through difficult times, but in recent years he had chosen to give back to the images he had remembered the happy tone of the moments to which they had belonged, far from melancholy. However, at the beginning of November, he didn't know if he would be able to be positive. A double birthday too heavy to his heart. And a flood of sorrow that carried him away will carry him away, as every year.

Olli swallowed his coffee without sugar. He was more efficient thus according to him. Two of his friends would join him in a few hours so that they could walk together to the studio where their band was rehearsing. But by then, he had time to let his fingers guide him along the neck of his electric guitar. Returning to his living room, he inquired about its absence. The day before, he had been so disturbed by the prospect of the next day that he had forgotten his guitar. He imagined then a brown man enter the studio he inaugurated the first each morning, miss the flamboyant guitar to which he cast a quick and insignificant glance, before turning away.

What was the point of Olli today ? He was never as pessimistic usually. Maybe this extra year was too much, as if branded in the hollow of his skin. The blond could have played the melody he had in mind on his acoustic guitar, but he didn't feel like ringing any strings. He looked at the clock whose sound resonated echoing on the white walls of the room. It was a little past 7am. Marko would not arrive before at least two hours and Markus would be there only later. In a long sigh, Olli opened the door of his room in which he recovered some clothes with dark colors. He hastily put them on, turned off the lights in his house, and began to walk for a moment.

Winter was approaching and the landscape was already wearing an immaculate white coat. There was no noise in the streets, no one. The guitarist's breath formed a cloud of steam in the fresh air. The blond shivered from time to time. The cold chilled his veins, but it made him feel good. It was not extremely common for the man to go out that way. He generally preferred the warm touch of the strings of his guitar against his fingers to the one of the snowflakes on his skin. But to tell the truth, today, things looked different, since the day was so special. Even if he had finally reluctantly accepted the events to which this date referred, the past decade of this kind sounded like a thunderclap as heartbreaking as definitive.

Ollis norted, his eyelids half closed, his complexion pale, his features drawn. Everything he did brought him back to his past. Every day. Every second. How could he forget ? How could one ignore the pain and guilt that had plagued his throat for all these years ? Yes. Today it was ten years ago. And as for ten years, he was going to torture himself with his memories. He was going to suffer to see the one hehad lost. Open again the tear of his heart, saddened, sorry for his choices. He was going to suffer to see another year on the face of this man, smiling at others who would offer him their wishes, while he watched in silence. When he had lost him, he had lost more than a friend. He had lost everything. For Olli, it didn't make the slightest doubt : it was all his fault. Certainly, the other days, he was pretending, he persuaded himself that time would soften his wounds, that it was necessary to keep hope, to keep alive the good memories by omitting the only one that was painful. But inevitably, every year on the same date, it resurfaced, planting a little deeper, like a dagger in the soul of the musician.