Modifié le : 2019/07/27

Always start­ing over, the hair, the dust, the days. Still as vaporous, flu­id, unal­ter­able as ever, this time which is only one more dimen­sion in our selec­tive memory.

We would like to be eter­nal because hap­pi­ness bewitch­es us. We will nev­er achieve our goals. Our chimeras are just good youkalis to lis­ten to.

I’m hap­py right now. I observe these specks of dust that fight against my will, these days that grad­u­al­ly whiten me, these breaths that wear my lungs down. And, para­dox­i­cal­ly to this hap­pi­ness, I know that the hefty pinch of hav­ing to leave, one day, this plan­et is still there, to heat the fur­nace of my emo­tions. It’s a lit­tle heavy, but there’s no need to wor­ry about it. We all sail on this riv­er. No need to com­plain, no one will have the patience to hear what they already know about them­selves. Instead of moan­ing, let’s write it down, tell sto­ries, share and soft­en ourselves.

I like to think of myself as a voca­tion to appease hearts. I want to do it for myself, I might as well do it for oth­ers. Hav­ing signed with a major pub­lish­er gives me some com­fort in this imag­i­nary mis­sion. This should not weak­en my defens­es, make me sleepy, and encour­age me to sweep away my cer­tain­ties more reg­u­lar­ly. It’s the best way to keep a fresh look at each of the sec­onds that fly away from me.