There was a game we used to play!
History repeats itself. Me and every time one different player. Sometimes an old player comes back for one more game. It's only me that always stays in the game. My cards on the table. My thoughts down inside. (My) childish dreams cried out loud.
It is so simple when it comes to asking what brings two people together. It's so simple when it comes to asking what breaks them apart. It's so wingless when it's about you. It's so intense when it's about me.
Everybody laughs out joy when one new person is born. Everybody cries when one person closes its eyes forever. The beginning of one love always celebrated. Its end eternally grieved.
My beginnings always reach their ends, ends followed by new beginnings, beginnings followed by the same old ends, ends followed by other new beginnings, beginnings followed by their ends........
This is the game. Every round is different. Am I winning? Every round ends. I could believe the game itself would end, hopeful like a child, when my player would stay, and never raise up from the chair he is never to sit on again.
Until then the game stays alive.
This fucking game: the need of someone.the loss of someone.
History repeats.
History repeats.
History repeats.
History repeats.
History repeats.
Colours. Air. Faces..
I love with the brain of a child, but my feelings just play pretending more than I thought. It's been a long time since i took my mind off it...but now i miss it.
Sometimes, most of the times the best of things are hidden, stopped in the back of our minds.
Last night i realised how much i miss it. Still, time and distance don't give second chances, for second chances are just the illusions of naive people that a feeling could be lived over and over again. However, it is by far no reason to make an ally out of time.
Sometimes....the world is smaller than it seems to be...
une journee et 7 heures.
