Il est temps. Il est temps d’être idiot. Aux revoirs, embrassades, derniers instants, derniers mais en vrai on sait que c’est jamais les derniers. Quelques larmes qui roulent, beaucoup d’amour, bonne route, bon vent papillon, ou plutôt « Tout de bon » comme on dit par ici. Envol.
« The way you earn your money doesn’t interest me. I want to know what make your heart dream and if you are brave enough to go for it. Your age doesn’t interest me as well. I want to know if you are able tu take the risk to look like an idiot for love, for your dreams, for the adventure to be alive. » Well. It’s time. Time to be idiot. Goodbyes, hugs, last moments, last, even if you know it won’t be the last. A couple of tears rolling down my cheeks, lots of love, may your road be safe, have a sweet fly little butterfly.
Notes de voyage 