To my angels and soulmates.
The child floats in a dream of comfort and innocence, a dream of high notes, chimes and sweet melodies. A secure bubble in which sounds that resemble life growing out of a seed resonate.
Thoughts sprout, everything seems to start to move, confusion inevitably follows. Either calm or energetic, either pensive or distracting, all sounds start to encompass a sense of doubt.
Between what it is and what one expects it to be, nostalgia arises. Neither a bad or a good feeling, it implies identification, desire, things that, sometimes, bring struggle. At some point one experiences nostalgia with some kind of pleasure, but then it suddenly brings one back to... something that's not quite resolved.
One can't keep on the same line forever, it is simply impossible. At the end of the tunnel of confusion, struggle and convulsive ups-and-downs, you get a sense of realization. Things start to (feel like they) fall in their right place, like one just found an exit, suddenly, effortlessly; one just has to see what to do with this gift.
Eventually one reaches the stage all that was for, one reaches clarity. Now one really feels at ease, stands up, and faces the world... Again and again. A year passed, the cycle restarted, differently each time; and in each step absolutely everything and nothing happened, like ever and ever and ever...
... and ever, and ever, and ever...