Her face was always bright – still is. But now, it’s grown into troubles. Surviving with a difficult laughter under scattered shades of fear. Her portfolio is empty, she tells me. Once full of blooming shares, promises of a future never ending, titles and deeds, what for? You never know. I’ve never understood.
If our future depends on paper, it is now empty….
But.
What a triumphant disaster! What a glorious atrocity! What a waste of proper life! What a pity!
And yet, right there and right here, within the beauty of forced reduction, remains a story never told. A story of love between two people, who knew very well where they had deposited their illusions, but had no idea about where they had hidden the reality of their inner feelings. Now, the threat of loneliness brings them together, in a way that arouses hints of sweet affection to their eyes. As they look at each other, in the storm, beautifully acquainted with the poetic succession of thunder and lightening. Unafraid. Almost eager to discover the thrill of unforced repetition within this rhythmic movement of sorrow and despair, under a sky of a million exploding phenomena.
Which nobody can buy, and nobody can sell. Money has evaporated. Deeds have disappeared. And this, is the beginning of a new proper life.
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