Can someone fall in love
with the place they were exiled to?
Yes Sir! — and so deeply that
Going back to the place they once called home
Feels like exile now.
What ties them to such a fate?
Love Sir! — just love.
Not a grand or a magical one,
But the kind you find anywhere,
Ordinary as it can get.
And where does love get its strength?
Hope Sir! — just a little hope.
Nothing big or shining,
Just a small patch to cover a tear,
Nothing more.
Why settle for this when you could rebuild yourself from scratch?
Because the truth is simple: everyone wants to feel whole,
Without losing who they are, without being someone else,
They want to mend their wounds — that's all.
So what does love ask for?
Faith Sir! — a blind faith,
A trust without questions, a love that asks for no reasons,
A mouth that lies, ears that believe,
A rebirth, and a death.
Why do people surrender to it as if surrendering to death?
To live — to truly exist.
Only what can die can exist at all;
What never dies has no meaning at all.
So what is living?
Pain mostly, disappointment a lot,
Falling short, not having enough,
Being left halfway, losing pieces of yourself on the way…
What should one do in all this confusion then?
Live Sir! — without asking,
one should live,
give birth to yourself each time once again
Hold on to a bit of hope and fall blindly in love again,
Patch the gap even knowing death lies under it,
Be both the lying mouth and the believing ears at the same head,
Run even when you know you won't make it in time there.
Don't calculate.
Life needs a bit of recklessness,
A willingness to play the fool in the game.
The curtain waits for no one; when the moment comes, it closes.
And everyone stays a little halfway, every ending is a fail
Neither less, nor more,
That's all.