- by MendhiSamadhi, Sep 6, 2017, 9:24:10 AM
- Journals / Personal
- Letter to my young friend painter:
- by MendhiSamadhi, Sep 6, 2017, 9:24:10 AM
- Journals / Personal
- Letter to my young friend painter:
You said I do not know you. I guess you're right. The only thing I know about you is that your hands are capable of creating the most intense fantasies when they write, when they draw, when they paint; those are virtuous creators of your thoughts and that is why I can see them. But you insist that that is not knowing you and you're right. I hardly know of you that you love animals as much as I do, and that you took the path to heal them, when I only glimpsed it. And of course, having a similar sense of humor, laughing at the same jokes –those that unconsciously betray our way of looking at the world– can not be enough.
It’s only for these things that I assume that you can’t be pro-life –you know, an anti-abortion fanatic– and that you can’t be against the euthanasia, that you support sexual diversity and that you do not believe a word of politicians say. Yes, this could not be more than coincidences.
I don’t really know you. I don’t know how your childhood was. I don’t know anything about your first love. I don’t know your fears. But be honest and tell me that you would not really tell me even if I were two meters from you, because you don’t really like to tell your secrets. You are reserved even with the closest people and only if, perhaps, someone important insists, you end up telling something. When not, the best thing is not to provoke your anger, because even you only take it out once every ten years, this is a fire that can’t be extinguished nor with the apology of a god. There is no excuse for that. Nothing, nothing is the same again. You can be the most loyal and delivered friend, but also the coldest and indifferent stranger when someone lets you down.
I wish I knew you, since although other people can easily read, the one I like is you. And if you tell me that you went on a mission to Africa to heal people or that you killed twenty because you wanted to, you'll still like me and even more. Because what I feel for you is an attraction that you can feel only once, or twice, in a lifetime. And if I recognize you it’s by the way you look, by those eyes that translate the world and make it works, the works that I have always admired. In the end, I know more about of you than you think I know… and you know it. You know that what I feel is real and you said it once in the past. You knew that I felt for you was a "sviscerato et ardentissimo amore", and you were right.
Always yours,
~The one that frees the birds.
You said I do not know you. I guess you're right. The only thing I know about you is that your hands are capable of creating the most intense fantasies when they write, when they draw, when they paint; those are virtuous creators of your thoughts and that is why I can see them. But you insist that that is not knowing you and you're right. I hardly know of you that you love animals as much as I do, and that you took the path to heal them, when I only glimpsed it. And of course, having a similar sense of humor, laughing at the same jokes –those that unconsciously betray our way of looking at the world– can not be enough.
It’s only for these things that I assume that you can’t be pro-life –you know, an anti-abortion fanatic– and that you can’t be against the euthanasia, that you support sexual diversity and that you do not believe a word of politicians say. Yes, this could not be more than coincidences.
I don’t really know you. I don’t know how your childhood was. I don’t know anything about your first love. I don’t know your fears. But be honest and tell me that you would not really tell me even if I were two meters from you, because you don’t really like to tell your secrets. You are reserved even with the closest people and only if, perhaps, someone important insists, you end up telling something. When not, the best thing is not to provoke your anger, because even you only take it out once every ten years, this is a fire that can’t be extinguished nor with the apology of a god. There is no excuse for that. Nothing, nothing is the same again. You can be the most loyal and delivered friend, but also the coldest and indifferent stranger when someone lets you down.
I wish I knew you, since although other people can easily read, the one I like is you. And if you tell me that you went on a mission to Africa to heal people or that you killed twenty because you wanted to, you'll still like me and even more. Because what I feel for you is an attraction that you can feel only once, or twice, in a lifetime. And if I recognize you it’s by the way you look, by those eyes that translate the world and make it works, the works that I have always admired. In the end, I know more about of you than you think I know… and you know it. You know that what I feel is real and you said it once in the past. You knew that I felt for you was a "sviscerato et ardentissimo amore", and you were right.
Always yours,
~The one that frees the birds.
It’s only for these things that I assume that you can’t be pro-life –you know, an anti-abortion fanatic– and that you can’t be against the euthanasia, that you support sexual diversity and that you do not believe a word of politicians say. Yes, this could not be more than coincidences.
I don’t really know you. I don’t know how your childhood was. I don’t know anything about your first love. I don’t know your fears. But be honest and tell me that you would not really tell me even if I were two meters from you, because you don’t really like to tell your secrets. You are reserved even with the closest people and only if, perhaps, someone important insists, you end up telling something. When not, the best thing is not to provoke your anger, because even you only take it out once every ten years, this is a fire that can’t be extinguished nor with the apology of a god. There is no excuse for that. Nothing, nothing is the same again. You can be the most loyal and delivered friend, but also the coldest and indifferent stranger when someone lets you down.
I wish I knew you, since although other people can easily read, the one I like is you. And if you tell me that you went on a mission to Africa to heal people or that you killed twenty because you wanted to, you'll still like me and even more. Because what I feel for you is an attraction that you can feel only once, or twice, in a lifetime. And if I recognize you it’s by the way you look, by those eyes that translate the world and make it works, the works that I have always admired. In the end, I know more about of you than you think I know… and you know it. You know that what I feel is real and you said it once in the past. You knew that I felt for you was a "sviscerato et ardentissimo amore", and you were right.
Always yours,
~The one that frees the birds.
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