I - About Love and Time

We often deny seeing love as an hourglass, as precious as time and as fragile as glass. Not even handling it by its slimmest part makes it possible to count its grains. At best, we crush it with the hope of injuring the fingertips enough to lose feeling in our hands. In the end, our memory fails and we fall off the wagon. I consider love as time, if you force yourself to get anchored to it, it becomes the long waiting before the disaster. To want to survive love seems like waiting to climb the flow of sand when it is coming to an end: Ashes as the only company looking up from the bottom of a narrow abyss. It seems impossible that so much hope and desperation, every glance and every horizon fit into such a small hole. In that state of mind, anxiousness and euphoria make us blind to beauty outside the glass: "I forgot about Dali because I only remember the surprise on your face" or " I wrote the poem that your lips dictated to me" are just two examples of the trikle of grains that spirits us away from transcendence.