THE POINT.

Often it may seems that nothing ever happens. We retrace the same streets every day, the same actions, the same errors, without giving us time to think, to try to understand the connections between things.How much of what we do, say, think, write, really belong to us? How much is merely a reflection of what we would like the others to see in us, to feel desired, loved, wanted, to have our place in the world?What you want from the others. What you want from yourself. What you see in the others. What the others see in you. What you want the others to see in you. What you want from yourself. What you see. What you want. What you let see. What you want to want.Then one morning you wake up and suddenly everything is different, or a night, any one night, so, without warning, everything shuts down. Darkness...Perhaps the man, the woman, are really writing a letter to someone ... but how hard is to find the tail of this story ... the tail, the end.That man, that woman, have done everything to last forever that love, continuing to joy, to extend as much as possible every moment of pleasure.Eternity, Infinity.The idea that the truth should last forever. True love, true art, the truth.True / False.The time that passes and transforms things, bending them, melting them, as the ocean with the stones.That man, lying on the bed, is thinking about when he was a boy, when everything was new, and he reposed confidence in everything. That woman is trying to understand what has changed in her since then, why she can no longer living things with such a spontaneity.The experience, awareness, knowledge, consciousness, life flowing, your life running, frantic.But where the hell am I going?Trips, people ,dances, lights, musics, phone calls, chats, messages, researches, words, images, connections, projections, reproductions, fictions, pulses, frequencies, vibrations, signals, signs, circuits, energies, fields and much more ... more ... because there seems to be never enough.Everything that we use every day to keep us busy, to not-think, to pretend, to not-know.How difficult is it to keep the faith once you discovered the deception of the truth, the illusion of forever. How to be able to be ourselves once we discovered how to be the best for the others, once you understand what others want from us.What you do, what you want, what you desire, what you believe. As long as something else comes, breaking in your life. And something else is over, forever.And that's what the man is trying to say, but he does not know how to do it, because those letters on the paper seem all wrong.To trust, the trust, be faithful. Put your faith in someone, something, illuminating it and making it eternal, even only for a moment, as long as that light does not change direction, or turns off suddenly.Am I ready to trust? Am I ready to be faithful? ... I do not know ...That man, that woman knows how difficult will be to keep the faith by themselves, to start over from zero, believing only in themselves.Perhaps this is where you decide to drop everything, the letter, the story, the man illuminated by the candle. You get up out of your bed and you go to open the window to smoke that famous cigarette. Outside you see nothing of what you're used to see, the windows of the neighbors, the street's lamps, the shop's signs, the headlights of the cars, the church tower, all gone, darkness.
Everything is off.If you have a bit of luck, you'll see the moon and the stars. Maybe you have never seen so many, or maybe you did, just  few times in the past, those rare times when you were away from everything, when everything around you was really switched off.And even on those occasions, as now, you've heard, loud, surrounding yourself, permeating the space, you have heard the universe above you, around you, so much that you have not been able to avoid to believe for a moment... to trust it.You know that nothing will ever be like before, you also know that is already since along time that the situation is like that, but how easy it was to wear the mask of yourself in the morning as if nothing had happened... recreating the same actions, expressions, words .Looking to the sky, you feel something growing inside you, something deep, a mixture of desire, will and love. Some would call it prayer, others would say it is a song or just a state of being. A dance. God or whoever it. Faith.Now you know what to do, you know what to say and who you're writing the letter ... you know how it will end the history of that man, of that woman.And here it comes, emerging from the unreal dark.The tail, the end.The end is forever. A point is forever. Everything else... is a miracle.