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Heaven and Hell
April comes to us with a first-aid kit and tries to heal the wounds of winter.
We might not need words to survive; on the other hand, we do need words to live.
...maybe Hell is a library and you’re blind
The one who dies is changed immediately into the past. It doesn’t matter how important a person was, how much kindness and strength of will that person had and how life was inconceivable without him or her: death says, got you, life vanishes in a second and the person is changed into the past. Everything connected to that person becomes a memory you struggle to retain, and it is treachery to forget that. Forget how he drank coffee. Forget how he laughed. How he looked up. But still you forget. Life demands that you do. You forget slowly but surely, and it can be so painful that it pierces the heart.
It’s easy to deceive oneself in solitude, one can almost create a personality, become wise, reflective, have an answer to everything, but it’s a different story in the company of others, you’re put to the test, there you’re not as reflective, not nearly as wise, you’re sometimes a damned fool and say all sorts of stupid things.
Some words can conceivably change the world, they can comfort us and dry our tears. Some words are bullets, others are notes of a violin. Some can melt the ice around one’s heart, and it is even possible to send words out like rescue teams when the days are difficult and we are perhaps neither living nor dead.