sâmbătă, 19 martie 2016

on the passing of placid Time...

Has it ever happened to you, that when you hear a song you can only think of one person during the time it is sung?
This is the song I'm obsessed with currently:
I find that Italian is one of the most romantic languages on this Earth...as if it has been given to make love to it; as if all persons in love should sing in it to each other; as if you needn't know what it says; the love message is more than obvious. Top that with an excessive romantic mood, a writer's imagination, a little bit of hurt feelings...and you're in my boat altogether.
Looking around me I can see people rushing by, towards actually nothing. They struggle to get a good job, get a house and a car, and top it all up with a beautiful family. Is anybody really happy? can anybody say "Stop! I have everything I want right now!" ? And you know what scares me the most? The fact that time doesn't give a rat's ass about us; little ants that we find ourselves in a hurry towards some imaginary important goal.
Time, this placid Chronos, just dances his slow but steady pace by us; leaving us behind; giving us the illusion that we're actually alive. Do you know when I think we really feel like we're alive? I believe the only moments when we actually feel alive are the ones when we hurt; the ones that would make us scream inside.
Can't we see that this life is only worth living if we are happy? But instead, all we do is anything but being happy. Struggle doesn't mean happy; and it might look like we're getting there; but we're not.
Happy is like when I'm listening to this song and it hurts; it makes me want to be near someone I like very much, someone that makes Chronos look like a fool; someone who can hold me tight until it hurts; but I'm laughing with tears of happiness in my eyes. That someone passes his fingers through my long hair and caresses my face in such a way that my hearts stops for just a second; the same person whom, when he laughs, my breath catches in my throat, for the wonder of seeing the fine wrinkles circling his eyes.  That same person with smooth hair and seductive silver at his temples; the only person dancing always to my rhythm. What better image to evoke the passing of time than the silver in our hair?
 But instead of having his arms around me, and my head resting on his shoulder; dancing to our own song; made up of our own two identical and scary compatible minds; we are struggling each in his own universe; and the magic of our two beings brought together for a short while is mercilessly cut down by the distance we alone have managed to put between us. Still, I feel like I'm alive; and although our time might have passed us by; I am grateful for the feelings that proved I am very much alive, very much able to be cut and bleed out until I can come to understand a small part of the real meaning of life.
So, Master Chronos, spread your wings over us, put us to your test; hurt us and leave us breathless, bleeding and aching all over; but don't you ever dare to pretend that you can take from us that which is so deeply ours: our need to love and be hurt; no matter the challenges you and your friends, the Moirae think of throwing our way.

A mere mortal...

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