( WARNING: UN PEU HYPERVERBOSE )
"This is, to me, the loveliest and saddest landscape in the world."
-- Le Petit Prince.
Over the last twenty-five years ( give or take an hour or two ), I have learned that a lot of things slip through the cracks of clichés and words of wisdom combined. Maybe they’re best-kept secrets for a reason, so you don’t lose your belief in magic somewhere down the gutter : the place where you sometimes lose your hope, your faith, your integrity and self-love. In my wildest dreams ( or nightmares ), I never could have imagined the courage it takes to shine a light in the dark and see all those imperative features of reveries laying there all in a heap. But it doesn’t stop at courage, the strength to pick it up and dust it all off is beyond description. The merit in effort far exceeds the eminence in an effortless A+. Show me a pair of grazed knees, dirty hands and a tearstained pillowcase and I’ll give you five fucking stars.
Sometimes I feel like I got lost somewhere in the middle of naivety and and this persistent guilt that won’t ever leave each and every crevice of my heart. It’s a mix between a curiosity and the desire to know absolutely everything that ever is and was and will be, combined with a fear that it’s all both frustratingly meaningless, and meaningful. It’s knowing of how to be better than I am, but to act upon it is still beyond reach. Does that make any sense at all?
What if there was no such thing as prestige? What if we were all blind? What if respect and high regard stemmed from somewhere other than status and station? What if gold coins were replaced with genuine benevolence? I can only imagine a world where relationships arose from the deepest kind of love, the kind that wouldn’t dare make you trip and fall flat on your face in a nasty gutter. Instead I lay here amid red nail-polish soaked sheets, with a black heart trapped inside one helluva mess of a cage that has called itself a body. I only had one New Years Resolution and now it seems I was asking for too much. I’m one hundred and a million percent ready for this year to be over. I want to start try again. That’s all you can ever do, it seems. I only hope there was some kind of silver lining in this motherfucking bitch of a summerautumnwinterspring, and I pray that peace still exists. Bel anniversaire, petit oiseau. It's a new year.
ps. "Let me stand by you, the honour is mine."