今朝の落書き

I am no sage ruler, nor do I want to become a precision machine, so sometimes I simply gaze at you absentmindedly.

It is sometimes misunderstood, but I am trying to be perfect. I want to move towards completeness. I cannot help wanting to come closer. Because something keeps catching my attention, every day, something, something, something.

Not worrying about anything, feeling that nothing at all is necessary, and yet being fulfilled. I dream of a world that feels like that.

It is easier if you give up, it is all right, we are all human, some things cannot be helped. Beside the self who knows that is true, a sensibility that helplessly still does not understand cannot stop being bothered by something today, too, and so.

I write. I change. I tell.
I laugh. I cry. I love.

Where I sit exhausted there are no words, and I sleep between a night pretending to be complete and a morning wearing a perfect face.

The completeness of your sleepy ‘Good morning.’ The perfection of the ripples drawn by the coffee I spilled. I cannot compete; the world is endlessly beautiful today, too.

I dream of a day when something born through my palms, too, will return to that beauty.

Perhaps it is because you believe in my unfinished self that I will reach it; let us surely meet someday between a complete night and a perfect morning.

Eventually we will sleep, and in the morning sunlight when we wake, let us confirm it again and again. Things like the gestures of eternity and the feel of love. Surely everything is there. There is no need to go anywhere else. Let us confirm it in that place that is both the end of a journey and the beginning of a new one. And finally we rise, a sleepy ‘Good morning’ travels through it all and everything shines. Towards a beautiful morning.

Thank you for reading again today. Faced with words that flow out without end, there is nothing I can do except write them down. Desperately I write, so that I will not drown or be swept away. I can only hold them here. And the beauty of the scenes I glimpse in them, scenes that will never come again. The flavour of the heart.