melancholia

Here, in Faro. the heat is considerably less now, a cool breeze turns in from the sea.

the sky is a dull grey. it is a day for mercenaries to doze in their hammocks, a day to wait for Godot maybe or maybe not, who knows.it is a day for melancholia, now, maybe not later, a state of mind you reach when you cannot focus properly, and though you are centered you feel vaguely uneasy, shadows of memories and lost emotions , past joy and forgotten pain rise and go. the best thing is just to let it be, try to enjoy the floating modus and let it pass as all things pass, you are alive,aware,  it is all what counts. it is indeed a day for mercenaries to sleep and to dream and to forget the last day and the next day.

this me is not a mercenary.

an arrow of poison enters, and you are caught unaware in your dreamy motion. though you should pull it out immediately ,should look around for the foe who is hiding in your dark corners.:instead you try to feel it like a broken tooth, your tongue goes there again and again to taste it.

you know what it is about in your case. the simultaneous presence of love and desire. you don't know how to relate to it. well, don't . it is not a contradiction, and your foe is your true friend , part of you, trying to make you conscious for life.

now you are awake, maybe a little bit confused, boats enter the harbour, boats go out leaving a wake in their trail. this is all.

there may be nothing much more. now, there isn't.

melancholia, you travel far, but you always meet yourself. open the window.