When I was child, I thought of you as a fair maiden who passed away at such a young age. I pictured you kneeling on the bench, in a warm and dimly lit church, praying in all innocence and kindness. You must have lived a life free of worries and filled with all pretty things I could dream of. "God gives us music so we can pray without words."
But you hadn't enough, had you? To know the outside world, you longed for the breath of freedom. I ran away from home when I was 15 with my mind set on seeking total independence, economically and emotionally. Although I often found myself pathetically in need of another human being to lean on time to time, deep down I treasure the little universe created by myself, where I can always stop and ponder. Out of provincial "stuff", imagined homesickness! Liberation--was that the same thing you secretly prayed for when you were getting bored with static familiarity?
Endless, endless love for life, or more for the youth! You were once at my age, knowing this spring was never to come again and memories were merely bleak and defective. You were passionate and ready to fly, not believing in the heaven God was soon to bring you to. It's not an enjoyment for salons, but an education to me. I felt the unwavering spine more than the soft and delightful curves.
When mundane insanity corrupts the world, even if it means tears and sweat, for you I want to love my life in perfection.
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