I stopped on a bench in the deserted park. A man with a mask on his face hurried past me, gently bypassing my bench. I don't know exactly why, because he's afraid of me or trying to avoid my fear of him. This is the effect in the social area of the so loud requested physical distancing. Probably that's why for a long (too long) time this was called social distancing.
I have a popsicle in my hand. But how can I eat it with a mask on my face? Why did I take it? Like so many other times in my life, I made something without a first thought. In fact, life didn't teach me much from its lessons. And my popsicle begins to melt…
The hopes in my mind are melting slowly, like a popsicle’s melting in a warm hand. Hopes, like ephemeral popsicles, are only other sweet lies about to hide in mind, beyond reality leaving only viscous marks behind.
They are neither juice nor ice cream. They're just a colored water stream.
Our life suddenly hung us on the hook of destiny turned into a tiny virus, which we cannot decipher.
But we feel in the depth of our soul and mind that something is uncypher.
I’ve watched a movie that brought back memories of love, failure, and pain, memories that are stubborn to remain.
In front of my eyes, I still have the image of Paris, broken into pieces. Tears seem to flow on my life's pages, yellowed by the dust, and sunk in the past.
A soundless cry hung me by my own life mast.
Words and thoughts in the avalanche spring from my ears, my eyes, under my forehead from, or they climb up like a clump from somewhere in my groin and they rush to go out of myself in the social garden like a bitter burden
And the words, as well as the thoughts behind them, hurt. A sharp pain of longing and remembrance, of dreams and unfulfillment, all these deep feelings revert.
They make hardly their way, to my dry lips, and they stop unspoken, melted in regrets. Then, they seem to fly away fluttering of wings in a flight of egrets.
What is hidden in regrets? It's hard to say! I would need an answer. For this, I pray.
Perhaps there are hidden mindsets, the helplessness in the struggle with the course of the flying time on the path of life, a cruel road that has only one way.
I’m detecting in the depths of my soul, a deep weakness in front of the superabundance of unfulfilled feelings, of so many desires left in the bud, and possibilities with broken wings. I'm acquiring, in the evening of my life, the acute feeling of irreversible loss. I'm finding meanings that are difficult to bring to light, meanings without an agreement, and meanings with their cheeks dirtied by the painful unfulfillment. Are they, I'm wondering, the only bitter achievement?
I take all these feelings with trembling hands and put them on the arm of my Libra.
I try to put on the other arm of the balance, with clenched teeth of so bitter and regrets, the joys, the hopes, even if only partially fulfilled. They have the tasteless touch of the melted popsicle, the fad taste of something only half achieved. My joys and hopes remain poor assets balancing precariously my regrets. This brings me a fleeting smile and a tear hides on my lips.
”Don't be unfair”, I’m telling myself. Neither to me nor to life! For I have tied the thread of my years to important landmarks of reference and I can say that I leave behind, a string that has become a safety cord for many other lives. The ungrateful use of these safety cords means for me painful knives.
I've done a lot of things. I should jump on one leg, like a child, with the joy of a bird in flight. But I know that I have a broken wing, not only from now but from the years when I avoided answering the challenges of my life. These years comprise my soul like a ring.
Did I really avoid fighting rife?
Oh, I do not want to angry God, I did struggle. And I don't want to be unfair, primarily with myself, because I never stopped on the first step.
Then, why do I feel now that in the depths of my soul and my mind I had all the strength to go on. Did I go forward? And the possible answer deeply hurts. It finds in my soul genuine deserts.
I didn't even think it could be such a pain, for what I could have done and I didn't do, not knowing, then in the past, what I can and what I want. Was I afraid? Did I think that I can't?
No, I think not! I just hid behind patches of sky that seemed clear, enjoying the moment lived and forgetting, even for a short time, that life must be lived but with dreams fulfilled. I must accept the truth. Small pieces from the spark of the conservation instinct rushed and put obstacles in my fulfilled life's wheels. They mean that somewhere in the depths of my soul, it was a little cowardice. This doesn't let me in peace.
I'm still feeling the engine of life spins at full speed inside me. But it's the evening of my existence and the rust of the housing, this ephemeral body, stops the momentum and awakens my crazy mind to reality. I'm looking around to the emptiness of the park. My heart is still pounding and flying with hope and optimism to the top of life's tower. An annoying question cries in my mind: where is life? Somewhere far on an alley, a young man drags his feet, as if combining the lack of hopes with the old age of a young body. I feel like I want to lend him something from my dreams, from my powers. Where could I find receivers?
The sadness and the bitter taste go up to the tear that hides under my eyelids. I'm wondering, are they, my tears, shy or naughty kids?
I’m looking at the hand that still holds a shadow of ice cream, and I see on the carpet of life how only a sweet stain remains, like a speechless scream. My mind is whispering: look, don't worry. The stain is still colored and sweet. I'm hearing the soft melody of the wind through the leaves. The hope still keeps.