Life is fleeting. Sometimes everything changes in an instant, that a glance the touch of a hand, a smile from a face caught in the crowd of anonymous, discovered in an infinitesimal space-time. It is these meetings that there is a random path, the turning of a steaming cup of coffee or an overheated room one Saturday evening in which the foot moves up one notch to dismiss into oblivion the horrors of the week. He exchanged glances and words leading to genuine relationships, love or friendship, but where knowledge of the Other seems to gradually gained any, where the effect of the surprise wears off because we reject the complexity of the loved one to protect us from anxiety immeasurable if everything comes to falling into the unpredictable nature of earthly existence and functioning of the human species.
Yet the stability of our couples, the intimacy of our relationship and intimate knowledge of the other do not exist. These are just illusions wrought by humans to appease him and to dangle within a time that the transience of these invisible trade is not as fanciful.
Thus, to understand and capture the depth of the other, our eyes glide over the wrinkles of his face, the shadows left by tears or light transcended by a smile, thinking to draw with a brush the completed canvas of his presence and its consistency. Filled with our assumptions, we believe collecting the other what he shows us but that is it not an illusion, imaginary thoughts and suspicions of a fragmented life we imagine? Finally our meetings they are not as fleeting images, a scenario ever imagined that we constantly strive to deliver to the center of the play when we understand that reality is crumbling and shreds our hopes dashed?
Men and women approach and believe that we then know not represent perhaps the shadows cast by our own imagination, what we want to believe them when they are a hundred places be what we think.
Human life becomes a blur, a tangle of emotions unmanageable, a crooked black and white where the forms of our fellows become ghostly and mephitic.
Really? This is so scary ...
© Delphinium February 2011
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