The Flight

Leaving brings me back to the idea of time. To the idea of a present which would already be a memory. You are leaving somebody who is not you anymore, you are parting from fleeting moments which are already part of the past and that you’ll never be able to live the same way. This timeline of departure makes it painful, brings you back to the idea of an end, of your end. You leave a place of joy or sorrow that you know, for a place of joy or sorrow that you don’t know. And even if nothing can prevent you from sadness, leaving a place of sorrow brings you the foolish hope that sorrow won’t ever follow your steps again. And even if life is full of small happiness, never the same, always magnificent ; leaving a place of joy means leaving the moment related to that joy, means making that moment part of the past. You have already made a memory out of it. It is what scares me in life, in the idea of happiness: its timeline, the undoubted fact it will end one day; whereas sorrow, in its great power, appears endless when it steals my heart.
March 2016