I’ve said, because I’ve had truly live it, that the only thing that could overcome the experience was the imagination. But what to do when the imagination becomes a daily routine, what to do in that situation of the dog that finally reaches its tail? Perhaps, to the Engineers, to return to fix one goal after another, in an infinite continuity? Or, more romantically, to fix as an ideal directly an impossible, like any instrumentalist or translator, knowing then that there will be nothing but failure? If we have only one life, at least in the others, we do not appreciate it very much, do we know intuitively immortals?
But, regardless of the nine lives that each one could have, or the eight cycles we had to go through, of karma, and of all astral houses, the point is that there is a here and now sensorial, experimental, where the you, the inevitable we. And then not only does it tell how much of our time we devote to who we care about, but how much we enjoy how time is spent by those who care about us, here the variable that marks us and tells us what we really feel and with how much intensity.
These and other ways of understanding and drawing shadows kept between one and another pillow. And I went between traffic lights and traffic lights, between menu and menu during the brief history of our long dinners and very short lunches, much more concentrated at the corner of his lips than in approval or disapproval, in the understanding or not of what I was saying. The same time she told me that for her the most important thing was to laugh at us together; I began to breathe more calmly, and to calmly dispose of all our silences, and all our kisses.