UNFINISHED SYMPATHY

What no one tells us and of course they don’t teach us in school is that when life doesn’t want to give you something, it will come.

Whatever is this, simple, fiddling, enormous: Dream, object, aim or feeling. It will never come.

But we are humans. And this is the problem. Human nature is made to hope, to be optimistic, to try developing the situations.

Human nature creates always an environment that permits us to survive.

Everyone design his own happiness. For me, happiness is a picture. And all my life I try to settle the scenery, frame the icon and hear the photographer (life in this case) to say “say whiskey”.

For my friend Elias, happiness is sounds and music.

In both cases, happiness doesn’t shape. For him, his melody is like the “Unfinished symphony”.

My image-happiness is like an “Unfinished Sympathy”. I beg during all my existence, life to help me fulfill my icon, to show me some sympathy, but unfortunately… “Unfinished sympathy”, “Unfinished image”, “Unfinished happiness”.

The hardest thing in this case is that human nature is always human nature and hope is always one of its… ingredients.

And when you are near to one of the components of happiness, one of the substance that will help you complete or at least to enrich the image, the heart starts to feel, the mind thinking. The hope creates dreams. And you are flying. And mentally you complete all the gaps of the icon and the joy is soooo big! You think you touch the heaven. You walk without step on the ground. All the pieces of the puzzle get in the right place. And the icon seems almost ready to fulfill.

Forgotten feelings come on surface, sun comes until the bottom of your heart, images are creating, moments of life that you didn’t hope to live come in front of your face, YOU START FEEL HUMAN (again).

And then, life comes and blurs your eyes. You cannot see the picture anymore. It doesn’t exist.

The dream gives its place to a cold feeling. Emptiness comes again. Your heart returns to the previous situation. Back to the life that we follow, because there is nothing else for us. We have to bow the head again and continue. Without sun, without hope, without any kind of dream.

Life returns to show you who is the boss. And you start to look at your image again through the photographer’s lens. And the picture is unfulfilled again.

And the pain is terrible, because, for some moments you thought that you could touch the happiness. But for one more time, happiness escaped.

And just one emotion left for you: the unfinished sympathy.

How many times you can face it? For how long someone is able to wait his personal picture to fulfill?

A lifetime? An eternity?   

For how long you can stand “Unfinished sympathy”. And this fucking puzzle always half made?