Life is a whirlwind. In the most unexpected moments, it lifts you up and lands you in the most surreal places. It swirls you with such intensity that each landing leaves you slightly disorientated, with a limited recollection of what had been important in the past. Unavoidably, as years go by, some memories are lost.
Will I remember you? Maybe your name or smile will be lost a few landings from now. If that is true, then a touch of today is insignificant, nothing more than skin brushing against skin. Between two people who are not lovers, nor true friends, and meet at a crossroad to exchange words that leave no trait, simply to continue walking on their previous path, unaltered.
But that’s not how things work in (sur)real life, because words are not just words, they are tiny but powerful forest elves with pointy ears, deep blue eyes and silky, damp, bronze-colored skin. In grey afternoons, with a peculiar wind blowing that agitates with its smells of life, they crawl under wooden pub tables to make love to each other. Of every passionate affair, a sentence is born with its sole purpose to inspire. If this newborn sentence doesn’t carry out its purpose, it fades away and dies weeping. Not many people know this, but lots of the raindrops falling these grey afternoons, are in fact the tears of failed sentences. Surely, it’s a little bit sad, but sadness can be more true than happiness.
So I was given a sentence. But then, this terrible thing happened, the wind changed and this whirlwind flew in. It took what was once my beautifully structured sentence and tore it into pieces, god knows where the pieces landed. Who knows, you might find the word ‘want’ buried in the sand on one of your summer holidays. But you’ll never manage to trace it back to me. Or you might find the words ‘I’ and ‘you’ floating in your pint but with ‘want’ missing they’ll never make much sense. That’s how things work I guess, people need to want badly to find themselves in the same sentence.
Most Friday afternoons, with the elves gathering under the table, ‘I want’. I want the passion but, most of all, I want to prove to myself that there’s a reason for wanting so badly. But I struggle to finish that sentence without ‘you’ in it.
Before the whirlwind takes me someplace else, before the elves give up on me and hand me a different sentence, find me for a last touch. The words will draw each other back with such force that all the strength in the world will not be enough to separate them. Only one little word will be able to squeeze itself in that sentence: more.
Will I remember you? Maybe your name or smile will be lost a few landings from now. If that is true, then a touch of today is insignificant, nothing more than skin brushing against skin. Between two people who are not lovers, nor true friends, and meet at a crossroad to exchange words that leave no trait, simply to continue walking on their previous path, unaltered.
But that’s not how things work in (sur)real life, because words are not just words, they are tiny but powerful forest elves with pointy ears, deep blue eyes and silky, damp, bronze-colored skin. In grey afternoons, with a peculiar wind blowing that agitates with its smells of life, they crawl under wooden pub tables to make love to each other. Of every passionate affair, a sentence is born with its sole purpose to inspire. If this newborn sentence doesn’t carry out its purpose, it fades away and dies weeping. Not many people know this, but lots of the raindrops falling these grey afternoons, are in fact the tears of failed sentences. Surely, it’s a little bit sad, but sadness can be more true than happiness.
So I was given a sentence. But then, this terrible thing happened, the wind changed and this whirlwind flew in. It took what was once my beautifully structured sentence and tore it into pieces, god knows where the pieces landed. Who knows, you might find the word ‘want’ buried in the sand on one of your summer holidays. But you’ll never manage to trace it back to me. Or you might find the words ‘I’ and ‘you’ floating in your pint but with ‘want’ missing they’ll never make much sense. That’s how things work I guess, people need to want badly to find themselves in the same sentence.
Most Friday afternoons, with the elves gathering under the table, ‘I want’. I want the passion but, most of all, I want to prove to myself that there’s a reason for wanting so badly. But I struggle to finish that sentence without ‘you’ in it.
Before the whirlwind takes me someplace else, before the elves give up on me and hand me a different sentence, find me for a last touch. The words will draw each other back with such force that all the strength in the world will not be enough to separate them. Only one little word will be able to squeeze itself in that sentence: more.
I want you. I want you more.