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.