It’s true, I don’t understand this life anymore. When my grandmother held my hand along the tree-lined streets of the neighborhood, the whole world was an infinite amazement, a wonderful and endless game, every moment. Then, when my heart exploded in my chest, losing me in the bottomless black eyes of my first love, nothing else existed but her, and the world was just a multicolored stage along which to run holding hands to discover the first words in two. Still later, imperatives and commandments. Work, affirmation, money, family, duty. As if a huge, immense wall were to be built, on which to climb in order to continue again and again to climb, climb up, with time at your heels and with a blinded conscience. Without memories, without experience, without emotion. Now, now that my gaze knows how to embrace and no longer challenge, I no longer understand life. I know it is like a flowing river, and that I cannot stem it as long as I am in this form. I know that I still want to hold a love by the hand, or fly over the musical corpuscles of a melody, or be moved by the colors of a flower. But I also know that I cannot erase a pain, that I cannot save those who tremble, that I cannot change what is or what is not. And I no longer know if my doing is really a doing or I don’t know what to do. I do not know. So I sit down, I try to feel with my eyes where the light is and to turn my heart to it, because there is nothing else Then … when they close to me … who knows … in which direction I will orient myself. After all, understanding is not really necessary …
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 