By Your Side at the Window (Virginia Woolf -vs- Placebo)

C'est marrant, j'avais envie de remettre ce texte que j'avais posté en novembre. Tao-m m'en a donné le prétexte en commentant un article précédent par "Woolf et Placebo, quand même, vous exagérez".

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A heartless woman he called her; she never told him that she loved him. But it was not so – it was not so.

Strange infatuation seems to grace the evening tide. I’ll take it by your side.

It was only that she never could say what she felt. Was there no crumb on his coat? Nothing she could do for him?

Such imagination seems to help the feeling slide. I’ll take it by your side.

Getting up she stood at the window with the reddish-brown stocking in her hands, partly to turn away from him, partly because she did not mind looking now, with him watching, at the Lighthouse.

Instant correlation sucks and breeds a pack of lies. I’ll take it by your side.

For she knew that he had turned his head as she turned; he was watching her. She knew that he was thinking, You are more beautiful than ever. And she felt herself very beautiful.

Oversaturation curls the skin and tans the hide. I’ll take it by your side.

Will you not tell me just for once that you love me?

Tick tock tick tock tick tock.

He was thinking that, for he was roused, what with Minta and his book, and its being the end of the day and their having quarrelled about going to the Lighthouse.

Tick tick tick tick.

But she could not do it; she could not say it.

Tick tock tick

Then, knowing that he was watching her, instead of saying anything she turned, holding her stocking, and looked at him.

I’m unclean, a libertine. And every time you vent your spleen, I seem to lose the power of speech.

And as she looked at him she began to smile, for though she had not said a word, he knew, of course he knew, that she loved him.

You’re slipping slowly from my reach. You grow me like an evergreen. You’ve never seen the lonely me at all. I

He could not deny it.

take the plan, spin it sideways. I

And smiling she looked out of the window and said (thinking to herself, Nothing on earth can equal this happiness) –

fall. Without you, I’m nothing.

‘Yes, you were right. It’s going to be wet to-morrow.’

Without you, I’m nothing.

She had not said it, but he knew it.

Without you, I’m nothing.

And she looked at him smiling.

Take the plan, spin it sideways.

For she had triumphed again.

Without you, I’m nothing at all.


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Bibliographie :
Virginia WOOLF. To the Lighthouse.
PLACEBO. Without You I’m Nothing.