On the wooden floor, in a far, far land
Lurking. Always there, at the back of my mind.
Splitting the second between the smile and the tear. Memories dancing- one step forward, two steps back. And my heart goes up in my throat, hesitating to which extreme end of emotions it should belong.
What goes around comes back around. But somehow I am not happy about the context, I am happy about the unexpected sentence which started it .Happy in the way of the grown ups. Satisfied. Not needing more. But not dreaming like a child, either. These kind of illusions went in a coma on the wet wooden floor of a winter mo(u)rning. The line evened later. Peeeep. And in a flash it was gone.
Le Roi e mort.
Vive le Roi!
…Each line is different. Especially when it starts having its peaks again. But it takes time to feel as alive, after such low. Heart beats fast, it draws back the blood in. But it’s still almost transplanted. Detached, aware of the inevitable…Or not?
Deep below, in the shuttered fundaments, the memories twitch with their beauty. And ask- should we be able to stay? I don’t know. Future’s the only thing which can give answers to our present questions …about the past.
But somehow I know I did the right thing.
The only thing worth doing. And the old smile is finally back. More determined. Freer. More generous. Bright sun, even under the autumn rain. The smile is back. And I’ll do what it takes for it to stay. Because it is who I am. And that’s the only way I want to be loved.
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