Sunday, February 14, 2016
Farewell
The sunflower looked at the blue pale sky and the continuity of the infinite colors. The sky was intimate. The sky was home.
The day part of the sky was the joy. When the sun rises, her infinitely long shadow melts and the sun gets it back from the deepness of night minute by minute. Because the sun knew how to descend upon the night. The sunflower thought its silky touch. The first kiss in the mornings. The glimpse of the beginning and hope. Because the sun knew how to touch. There were days without the sun, of course, but the sun was always somewhere out there shining and waiting. The sunflower knew it. When the sun was leaving the earth and when the spirits of the colors lose their bodies, her shadow was growing at a distance minute by minute, finally, her shadow was being lost in the night, again. The sunset was the practice of farewells.
The sky was forgetful when the sun went down. He was not thinking of the sunflower anymore. He was captivated by the charm of the sparkles, the beauty of the universe; thousands and thousands of the stars. In those times, the sky was dark; the sunflower was lying to herself "every star in the night was indeed the piece of the sun... All the sparks were the thousands of heartbeats of the sun that touches her in the day." This was a lie that warms her in the cold night.
Day or night, the sky was the meaning to the sunflower. The sun was the heart of it. One part of the sky was joy like a kid and one part of it was silent and cold.
Today, it was her last day under the blue sky. When she has gone, when she was not here, there will be others looking at the same sky. They will be touched by the same magic and with the same love, she thought.
Today, it was a farewell.
The day part of the sky was the joy. When the sun rises, her infinitely long shadow melts and the sun gets it back from the deepness of night minute by minute. Because the sun knew how to descend upon the night. The sunflower thought its silky touch. The first kiss in the mornings. The glimpse of the beginning and hope. Because the sun knew how to touch. There were days without the sun, of course, but the sun was always somewhere out there shining and waiting. The sunflower knew it. When the sun was leaving the earth and when the spirits of the colors lose their bodies, her shadow was growing at a distance minute by minute, finally, her shadow was being lost in the night, again. The sunset was the practice of farewells.
The sky was forgetful when the sun went down. He was not thinking of the sunflower anymore. He was captivated by the charm of the sparkles, the beauty of the universe; thousands and thousands of the stars. In those times, the sky was dark; the sunflower was lying to herself "every star in the night was indeed the piece of the sun... All the sparks were the thousands of heartbeats of the sun that touches her in the day." This was a lie that warms her in the cold night.
Day or night, the sky was the meaning to the sunflower. The sun was the heart of it. One part of the sky was joy like a kid and one part of it was silent and cold.
Today, it was her last day under the blue sky. When she has gone, when she was not here, there will be others looking at the same sky. They will be touched by the same magic and with the same love, she thought.
Today, it was a farewell.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Anatole France
"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."
Anatole France,
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Thank you Laura!
Anatole France,
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Thank you Laura!
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