Nothing, Nada, Rien.
Nothing can change what you mean to me; no one can make me change my mind and my feelings towards you. Nothing and no one. But every statement is a question in itself, as well as every question has an answer between it lines. The real power lies inside that very same power.
Nothing can make me change my feelings towards you; except, of course, nothing. But not nothing whatsoever; nothing from you. That is the only thing that would make me change, or to put it in more plain words: that very same nothing, from the only one from who I expected something, is what would prompt change.
To change out of nothing, or because of nothing . . . odd, very odd and very silly. Stupid, yet so powerful.
How could life change so much due to the very lack of something, the lack of words, the lack of phrases; spoken or written; of love or hate; of miss you or miss you not; but words for Christ's sake! Change prompted due to nothing, that nothing that you've become. That silence, so complete and total, so loud and evident, yet so silent.
When you chose to choose silent?
Of all alternatives; of all the possible ways to end whatever there was; of all the possibilities that all three languages that we speak have to offer, you just chose silent. Couldn't you at least have waved your hand? or a finger, even the finger would have been enough for me to know. I just want to know when was it that you decided that silence was the best way to say something, whatever it was, that has turned out to be that blank open space full emptiness.
As not to answer is an answer in itself; and to choose to not do something is indeed an action; silence says more, today, than all those I love yous that one day were said so many times and so often that I thought there were going to be enough of them to see, one day, your eyes in our daughter's.
Today her eyes smile down only in my thoughts, as a distant dream, while you are becoming more and more a cluster of distant memories, soon to be killed in these endless nights of liquor.
Your image moving slowly to mirror what you've become today: an immense nothing.
Nothing can make me change my feelings towards you; except, of course, nothing. But not nothing whatsoever; nothing from you. That is the only thing that would make me change, or to put it in more plain words: that very same nothing, from the only one from who I expected something, is what would prompt change.
To change out of nothing, or because of nothing . . . odd, very odd and very silly. Stupid, yet so powerful.
How could life change so much due to the very lack of something, the lack of words, the lack of phrases; spoken or written; of love or hate; of miss you or miss you not; but words for Christ's sake! Change prompted due to nothing, that nothing that you've become. That silence, so complete and total, so loud and evident, yet so silent.
When you chose to choose silent?
Of all alternatives; of all the possible ways to end whatever there was; of all the possibilities that all three languages that we speak have to offer, you just chose silent. Couldn't you at least have waved your hand? or a finger, even the finger would have been enough for me to know. I just want to know when was it that you decided that silence was the best way to say something, whatever it was, that has turned out to be that blank open space full emptiness.
As not to answer is an answer in itself; and to choose to not do something is indeed an action; silence says more, today, than all those I love yous that one day were said so many times and so often that I thought there were going to be enough of them to see, one day, your eyes in our daughter's.
Today her eyes smile down only in my thoughts, as a distant dream, while you are becoming more and more a cluster of distant memories, soon to be killed in these endless nights of liquor.
Your image moving slowly to mirror what you've become today: an immense nothing.
Jean-Francois was drunk at 10:09 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home