But is this true? In reality, you die more than once in a lifetime. As if fate we practiced, we prepared a sort of fatal benevolence to our grief of the people we love. And charity, we must first make the grieving ourselves. I died several times. This chubby baby is no longer there to jump on my mother's lap, laughing, amazed by this little girl the world would not run in the aisles of a park that also is gone ; either. I was also the dreamy girl, who was listening to Simon and Garfunkel, writing in his journal of his mad utopias, I was this young woman eager to live a thousand experiences, and this young mother overwhelmed and exhausted by his day-marathons. Where are they? They disappeared into the corridors of time. I seek in vain.
We are surrounded by ghosts that float around our loved ones like shreds of mist. Our children become adults carry around with them the silent cries, chirps and vanished small wounds fled the dearly departed: the children they were. Their rhymes and games were dissolved, was absorbed like water in the hot sand.
And we watch in disbelief on the photos or movies, their bodies, faces, or voices, and we regard them as s 'they no longer existed. We must admit: we have in these moments, gripped by nostalgia, the same eyes distant and so wet that we were looking at pictures of the deceased.
Death, the true one, is basically a death again, and we should not be surprised when it happens, neither surprised disappear again. The last .
Celestine photos (there a. .. long)
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