REFLECTIONS © 2011

Knowing that our story

Will be that of a sad and real book,

Where the words weigh like memory,

And the chapters unfold without end,

Makes me a child,

Who, in innocence, forgets everything,

Lives in the now, without the recollection

Of what the inevitable future weaves.

Without truly seeing it,

I carry the burden of one who understands,

That life, though brief and already undone,

Is a story that, in silence, extends.

And so I am, lost in daydream,

The child who pretends, yet carries the whole plot.

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