"... Nostalgia! I miss even of what has not been anything for me, for the anguish of the flight of time and disease of the mystery of life.
time I saw regularly in my usual ways: If you do not see them as it saddens me, yet I have been nothing but a symbol of a lifetime. The old
by anonymous dirty gaiters that I almost always crossed at nine thirty in the morning?
Seller lame lottery tickets that bothered me to no avail?
The old round and ruddy, with a cigar in his mouth that he was on the threshold of tobacco? The pale
tobacconist?
What will become of all these people who only ever seen them, have been part of my life?
Tomorrow I will disappear.
Tomorrow too, the soul that feels and thinks, the universe that I am for myself, yes, tomorrow I'll be only one that has stopped moving in these streets, one that others will evoke a vaguely " What will become of him? "
And now I do everything, because now I feel alive and will not be anything more than a passer at least, in the everyday life of any city ... "- (Fernando Pessoa) -
read this piece of Pessoa, I have a feelings of worthlessness as a whole, past, present, future. Every part of the time, which flows seems illogical.
Then, I tell myself that just because everything in this world will finally end,
because of it, every moment time that is given us to live, we must do ours, and hold dear, like the emotion that suddenly surprises us and gives us a sigh that is joy.
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