A smile of thousand colors

Cities don’t change people, even people don’t change people. Each one of us is a fortress which never comes down. The only changeable is the addition of new rooms and halls; and sometimes we tear some old wall down, we merge rooms… we’re constantly renovating by changing: colors of walls, the view of the façade… we show tendency toward freshness:)

From another angle, we could say that each and everyone of us is stuck in their own little private mechanisms. Something like a small mouse in a glass aquarium, which runs within a cylinder made of wood until the inner strength holds. We run all our lives, and yet we stand still. The difference between us is what we strive to turn at the other end of the shaft of the wooden cylinder… for some it’s just an empty air, vainly spent force in transmission friction. The others, they make things go round and forward…

One tired Frenchman once said that life is a deep sleep, of which love is the dream. Our inconsistency and spontaneity promise loosing in drifting, both in sleep and in dream. There, in that onirique region we taste the essence of our freedom, a nonplace where spirits float and expand in a continuous manner. Not even the physical capabilities of the body can prevent this growth. And where is that hero who will recognize the liberty in dreams, if he/she hadn’t experienced the slavery within them?

I can feel draft on my neck… it makes me shiver, like a touch I had already forgotten. I can taste it in the air – autumn is coming, so gently and seductive with that familiar smile of thousand colors. And yet again my heart’s racing…