I just do not like it when it’s winter. Everything is so foggy, dark and melancholic. Every body is gloomy and always cold. Streets are all wet and deserted. Empty.
Can you tell me why do we keep doing the things we do not want to do? Why do keep seeing the people we do not wish to see? Why do we keep going to the places we do not want to go to? And why do we keep wanting those whom we do not esteem?
I want to do the things that I have always loved. I want to see only the people my heart delights to see. I want to be there where I feel comfortable and entirely myself: “home”. I want to be nobody’s property. I want to be free.
Can you tell me why do we keep doing the things we do not want to do? Why do keep seeing the people we do not wish to see? Why do we keep going to the places we do not want to go to? And why do we keep wanting those whom we do not esteem?
I want to do the things that I have always loved. I want to see only the people my heart delights to see. I want to be there where I feel comfortable and entirely myself: “home”. I want to be nobody’s property. I want to be free.
"Be off!" say winter's snows;
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
So, startled, quivering,
Not daring to oppose
(Our fortitude grows dim in
The face of a Quos ego),
Away, my songs, must we go
Before those virile women!
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Everywhere, utterly.
End of the comedy.
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Writhing their stunted limbs,
And off the white smoke swims
Across the heavens' gray.
A pallid yellow lingers
Over the chilly dale.
My keyhole blows a gale
Onto my frozen fingers.
- Be Off Says Winter's Snows by Victor Hugo
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
So, startled, quivering,
Not daring to oppose
(Our fortitude grows dim in
The face of a Quos ego),
Away, my songs, must we go
Before those virile women!
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Everywhere, utterly.
End of the comedy.
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Writhing their stunted limbs,
And off the white smoke swims
Across the heavens' gray.
A pallid yellow lingers
Over the chilly dale.
My keyhole blows a gale
Onto my frozen fingers.
- Be Off Says Winter's Snows by Victor Hugo
5 comments:
Hello I am your old friend who can finally start commenting in English. You talk about winter as if you live in the North Pole. Leave something for poor frozen french to say!
Salut
F
well.. if life was how we wanted it to be...i think we'd all be in heaven.
sigh. this is earth for ya!
I don't like winter too. In my city the sky gets pale shades of gray and almost everyday is a raining day. Luckily we still have the summer. (:
You don't need to see people that you don't want to see. Unless it is your boss... :D
It is true that one cannot be/have "all" what/whom one's heart desires, but this does not mean we cannot have most of it in this life. And does not this what keeps both of us going on; hope?
I like your space very much. Quite interesting.
Hello back, I like photos in black and white more than those in colors. They reflect very deep feelings of peace once you see them.
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