(Yara Martini)
Yesterday I watched that movie Benjamim Button's story (by Scott Fitzgerald). I have been questioning life as never regarding its meaning.
Sometimes what comes to my mind is that it has no meaning besides living each and every day: our minds are so different, the human beings behave so different, believe so different...
Then what is a moral value for one, is not always for the other. What has a meaning for one, has none for the other.
And then we die. We are blown in the wind.
And who still lives, rests, in both meanings: is left and retires.
And life goes on.
I am starting to think that we are pure nature, animal speaking, pure dust of stars, and as the song says, made of stars (Moby).
We are nothing but following days, meetings and break ups.
Love that is felt, love that is left.
Meaningless suffering. What hurts me, may tickle your feet.
At the end, we will be all alone, in a box, or in the fire, all reduced to dust.
The difference will be how we lived from the moment we were born to the one our heart stops beating.
This we can choose, free will.
And who still lives, rests, in both meanings: is left and retires.
And life goes on.
I am starting to think that we are pure nature, animal speaking, pure dust of stars, and as the song says, made of stars (Moby).
We are nothing but following days, meetings and break ups.
Love that is felt, love that is left.
Meaningless suffering. What hurts me, may tickle your feet.
At the end, we will be all alone, in a box, or in the fire, all reduced to dust.
The difference will be how we lived from the moment we were born to the one our heart stops beating.
This we can choose, free will.
Now I remember waiting for you at Catalunia Square.
Right at the middle of a star.
U never came. The rose started to fade.
And u - part of my history.
And u - part of my history.
