"He told me he thought the people live for years and years, but in reality is only a small part of those years living really , namely in the years when you can do this it has been made. So, there you happy. The rest of the time is time spent waiting or remembering. When issues or memories, he said, are neither sad nor happy. You look sad, but it's just that you're waiting or remembering. Is not it sad that people expect, and even that recalls. It is simply far . "
~
Far.
Far in the morning, when I drag myself out of a tangle of sheets, leaving at that comforting hug ; confused fragments of dreams, when dining away, always together, always surrounded by familiar faces and ritual gestures, automatic machines are like the thoughts behind every smile, every word is as automatic of a mouthfuls, painfully similar, every day. Far as the music, by bus, which is repeated without noticing it and goes idle, until I can no longer stand it: I put it to rest, dopodicchè try to silence the silence, without results. And so on. And so on. And so on. Simply
far, neither sad nor lonely. It 's just that I'm waiting.
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