(The prospect of a future novel…)
Metamorphosis … in black and white II
Sometimes I try to make a sense of life, but I often fail. I’m wondering why? But I’m looking, I keep looking because I have not lost hope yet. It is said that hope dies the last. But I wonder, is it so? Is that an illusion? Isn’t a ballast that approaches the earth in the form of anchor? I still do not know, maybe do, maybe not…
Why should I have people who offend me, humiliate me, and often do so in a way that my soul really hurts, and on the contrary, I look at them humble to my feelings for them.
Yes, I do not exaggerate when I say the soul, which for me is a sacred thing with intense living and in which I still trust.
Life is like a big wave that rolls to the sand, with a lot of vivacity, in unrealistic forms, and when it retires it leaves nothing behind but the hope that it will follow its cycle and destiny; or it may be a windmill, either with warm additions or with cold additions, all being an uncharted, uncharacteristic but timed motion.
Time passes, the years pass, and you as a man become their gender. Maybe it would be better to quote in such moment is the “Françoise Sagan” saying “Bonjour tristesse …“and they do, because very often stand too many things that should overlook or that we should do not care about them, be it I should ignore them, but can I?
I don’t believe, I put too much soul in what I do and I have a lot of hopes, although at one point in one word they are being shaken like a sandstorm in the desert.
And why? Did I get anything wrong and cannot fix the mistake? I think so, but what do you think? Or maybe you would have expected something from me?
I think I should be the angry one, because I felt hurt and flushed aside as a broken mass.
I’m just a simple man who does not want too much, then maybe a little understanding, maybe a little heat, or maybe that sensitive part of life that generates love is profound, true and sincere.
It is a special day that should not be overshadowed by anything, too special for me, compared to many others, a day that will certainly not be repeated even though I would like it very hard, but those watches, go slowly and sad forever to the gloom of time, becoming history somewhere infinite, and that sequence will return to memory, either with pleasure or sadness or place.
And here’s how it’s been a year in the hourglass, hourglass that measures time with every drop of sand falling in the tunnel of time until we get back to what I was once, but only with the thought, and the eternal question…
“Will one day come again to be what I once was?”
Apr.22 / 2018