The surface of the 30' s
The other day I dreamed my father would say,"Don't use words for people who are never willing to answer. He would rather say use poetry. And I woke up not knowing exactly what he wanted to tell me. I had a lot going on with him. And I remember never asking him for details because I didn't want me to think I didn't understand. Then he looked at me with that look "I know you don't understand now, but you will get to understand soon. And suddenly the day came when I understood it.
I dream a lot about my father. That he is alive, that he is 30 years old like me, that he is wearing bell trousers again, that I am a child and he teaches me to play goose, that we laugh. This last one I dream a lot about it.
And no one tells you this, but when your father dies, you love your mother and your brothers much more. You want to look at them and touch them every few minutes. Spattering might be better for the word. You also get away from a lot of people, I guess this is done by sentimental economics. And no one tells you that either, but it makes you feel special when someone tells you how much you look alike. It's like when you're 15, they tell you you look like your favorite rock star. It's pretty cool. Even if you shyly deny it with your head. You feel like hell.
I'm pretty rude. Thirty years often transport me to fifteen.Being thirty does not stop people fron changing a lot of habits at the same time. Come on, a chaos in which you end up laughing at yourself most of the time. We live as we dream, not knowing much about ourselves. As a regression to a rabid romanticism from which we have already known boredom, cholesterol and truly missing someone for real. You stop asking yourself to stop answering. You use a little bit more and poetry better. Suddenly, you discover yourself with a certain tendency to seek happiness. And sometimes, with a little luck, you also find it.