What's The First Word That Comes To Your Mind When You Think Of Your Loved Ones?

Green

Laura Pashby

Every time I catch myself running through life instead of actually living it, I wonder—am I truly living or just moving? Have I spent my days meaningfully, or have they just slipped away without me noticing?

It makes me think… how many of my best days have I buried without even realizing it?

We are, each of us, a little Universe.

- Neil deGrasse Tyson

داخل كل شخص مجرة من الأفكار والتجارب والذكريات، محيطات من المشاعر والرغبات، وأقمار تدور حول أحلامه.

كأنما خُلق لأهواه،

وكم هو شهدٌ يسري في عروقي، لكنه يترك ندوبه

أدرك ذلك، أترقبك، وأسقط في الهاوية مجددًا

لكن ما نفع الهاوية؟

يقال إن الجحيم دوما يشير للأسفل،

غير أنني، بطريقة ما، أجعل منه جنة،ربما هو حبي؟

روحي، هذه الكتلة المتوهجة بالمشاعر،

لا تخسر جدالًا مع النيران، بل تتحد معها،

وتبقى لتدفئ قلبك

لكن، أليست السماء أسمى لحضنك؟

كيف لي أن أغرق عزيزي بنيران، حتى وإن أشعلها؟

وكيف أخف، أطفو، لاسكن تلك السماء مجددا

معك؟

One day, maybe,

his eyes will look at me again—

but from another face.

A child running, laughing,

with pieces of him that aren't mine.

And I’ll be walking through it all—

touching everything we knew.

A flower,

the grass,

the lies written in the photos.

He’s everywhere,

just never with me.

But tell me—

how could you share a piece of yourself

with someone else?

how do you live knowing pieces of you exist in a world where I don’t?

One day, maybe,

his eyes will look at me again—

but from another face.

A child running, laughing,

with pieces of him that aren't mine.

And I’ll be walking through it all—

touching everything we knew.

A flower,

the grass,

the lies written in the photos.

He’s everywhere,

just never with me.

But tell me—

how could you share a piece of yourself

with someone else?

When I met you, it felt like my memories rewrote themselves. I can’t recall what life was like before you, and honestly, I don’t want to. It feels like you’ve always been here—a lovely boy who stole my memories and rearranged them to revolve around nothing but his eyes ,ever since.

To love without direction, without a goal,To love for being, pure and whole.

Andrei Tarkovsky, from a diary entry featured in Time Within Time; Selected Diaries