And so he cried

  "Oh, fuck that," he said, the voice is so soft as his other self might try to escape.
  And there's no one to listen his exclamation.
  For centuries, he's been doing this, alone, in the void where the light glued the universe all around, that make him the single object visible in view. However, his hard out-burst is still lost in the unending expedition in search of a listener.
  But what would a listener do, really? He doesn't need it. As a matter of fact, he doesn't need any thing or any one. No, to be totally honest, he doesn't really know whatever the fuck he needs. It's gone. Lost. Past. Time is our enemy, and it wins, always. The only chance we get is to be part of it, and hoping the return into it would not be freezed eternally but a chaotic mix which would allow us to be at all time lost all at once. That's the only way to find her again, he knows. The only way to find her, and him, and her, and her, and him. To finally summon up all the courage one need to say "let there be light" and grab her hand, soft, pale, and cold. To finally lean forwards and kiss her, or grab his manhood in the hand. All is lost, so time the great enemy is the only way out.

[Words] Pouvoir/Can

The word "can/pouvoir" is a pretentious. While in question sentence, it suggests the will to obey of the questioner, which is not the case for most of the time, and in descriptive sentence, it suggest the will to leave the space for denial, nor is it more often true.

There I stopped, standing straight, alerted, watching. Far away in the mountains, at the edge of the vast field, hid somewhere the beast.
I know it's there, the beast.

Tired tired tired...No, not tired, but lost track of everything. No, not everything, but still...
Feeling in need of something...deep, warm, hug, love...
I love, I love her. But...need that kind of deep, silent, fulfilling strength.

The man depending on dying

He insists on dying, madly, firmly, persistingly. It's as if there's no hope of being more glorious other than holding on to it, so the final breath of his would carress his face and say goodbye in whisper, which deaf him of all others' crying, begging him to stay for just one more second.
It's not like he's going to committ suecide, no, not like that. He just take it serously that he himeslf wouldn't hope of begging for any more second when the last is approaching. So in a twisted way, he could be sure that in all time he could call himself brave, not a coward. Thus is certified, his dignity.