Broken

“Things get broken. Some things can be put back together, if you recover all the lost pieces and their nature is such that they can be fixed. Except some things can never be fixed or repaired or put back together and given a new purpose.”

“Like a broken vase, you mean? Those things always get broken. Their second nature. Don’t use big words.”

“I mean when you drop something and it breaks in a million pieces, and you try to put it back together. you can’t restore its wholeness, and you think.. ok. it happened. I can’t be sad, it’s no big deal, everything is a transformation.”

“everything is. you can be sad, but you know it can’t be helped. sad or not sad.”

“but, everything that was created and I mean things and maybe also people, all of them have not been created without a purpose and that when something is broken, shattered or destroyed, even before it dies, it looses its purpose in this world, its essence, its ‘aiua’. like a watch that can’t tell time anymore.”

“destroyed but not defeated. isn’t that what Hemingway said? purpose — maybe thats true, but maybe it was meant to be this way. and things get broken, and maybe they die or they change and get another life, and you could call that a purpose, or at least a necessary step towards a greater.. destiny. if there is such a thing as destiny for things that get broken. or for people”

“reasoning is not right, things get complicated this way, and such a complicated purpose equals no purpose at all. destiny? can we even mention it or think about it, when we spend most of our lives not knowing it and maybe only seconds before death comes and slides our eyelids shut, with its skeleton hand, maybe only then we get a glimpse and if we’re lucky, with our last breath we acknowledge the fact that we’ve not lived in vain?”

“Especially people are weird this way. you should follow nature instead, its infinite simplicity.”

“the nature… of time”

“and space, and the human race”

“which one of us is the imaginary one?”

“you are. and I’m tired”

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