What's up?

Modifié le : 2019/08/07

How are you doing ?
—It’ll pass.
—There’s a hurry,
—It’s okay
—It’s all right.

—What’s up ?
—Not much.

Yes, many things, but I’m not telling you. I don’t want to explain every­thing, I don’t have time, you would­n’t under­stand, and then, you prob­a­bly have a lot to say that you don’t want to say, because I would­n’t under­stand it, espe­cial­ly if I said it like that, out of con­text. Any­way, if we start­ed talk­ing about our­selves, we could­n’t start our day, the whole week would be busy repeat­ing every­thing and rewrit­ing our respec­tive lives. And then there are the oth­ers who would like to join our con­ver­sa­tion. Per­haps the entire plan­et would stop a lit­tle bit and, in the end, start work­ing again, killing each oth­er in mis­un­der­stand­ings. We lack words, our words are clum­sy, betray us by try­ing to trans­late the labyrinths nowa­days as best we can. We may be con­demned to keep silent or to leave it to the artists to paint the life we should live.

It seems that only at the moment of death does every­thing come back to us, quick­ly, in a mag­ic trick of the brain. Then there would be only the regrets that rush to, at least once in their lives, clear­ly express their pain, there would also be the hap­pi­ness that wants to have fun one last time and prove to us that it was worth liv­ing for.

How are you doing ? How are you ? It’s all right, of course, but there is noth­ing more than the secret ges­tures repeat­ed over and over. There’s noth­ing but our lit­tle hap­pi­ness walk­ing around with its veil of sor­rows. All this will pass and tell us every day makes us always die a lit­tle bit. But we can live ful­ly because our his­to­ry remains alive in this unknown grey.

How are you doing ? How are you ? What’s up ?