the fig tree is my soul
and where in all this tumult am I? Where dos my soul wonder when the days pass and I forget… where do my memories go? I want to cling to everything, but nothing stays… my sole desire is to walk by the highway in the night, and listen to the fast passing cars, and see the city in the distance as I get closer and closer to this place that is nowhere and that has no name, but that is intimately mine and secret. a place that fades in the morning but stays…
to close my eyes and be able to feel the wind from the early morning and open my eyes to the deep blue ocean, and watch the waves for eternity crashing against the shore and simply feel life around me, without having to chose…
the fig tree is my soul, and each fig a piece I refuse to let go.
oh to live forever and be able to devour them all and not having to chose…
the days pass and the cold stretches on, spring is struggling to take her rule over this part of the world. I dream of spring days and warm summer nights.
somewhere very far away above me there are stars, and who knows how many of them are but faint memories, visible to us only because of the infinitude of time that separates us?
I would give up everything at this very second to go to the moon, and to have perhaps some sort of proof that this is slightly more real than it seems sometimes. oh, and the wonder… the wonder of the universe is the spark that lit me to life.
I feel distant from whatever it is I am meant to be. I feel I am meant to be something, but I have no words to explain, and I lack the words to find out. it’s a language beyond language that speaks within me, and these words that I feebly write are the only tools I have to unearth this primordial thing.
waking up in the middle of the afternoon and feeling grateful that night is already so close by.
not having to live an entire day bearing existence, but to let myself unlatch from earth and roam through the silent cloudy skies.
staying in bed in between books and wishing I could smoke inside.
j.d. salinger and my unfaltering passion for every character he has ever written. what I love the most about his stories is that no matter how long, they always cover just a glimpse of a character’s life. days, hours and it’s over. I will know forever so much about that slight moment that was so simply recorded into paper, and yet so little of their past and nothing of their future.
how funny that all i’ve written here has slowly lost its shape, and became this conglomerate of half thoughts and ideas.
maybe i’ll become a night person, because how much more comforting is the night? the sun could never make up for all these stars.
I crave for a summer night and the cool wind by the ocean, and the sound of the waves crashing and crashing…
I crave for a soft wind to take me…I wish to fade and simply exist without having a body or whatever tangible thing this is that I inhabit. if I could only detach myself completely and fade fade fade away… I crave a nonexistence filled with sensations and meaning… and so much blue…