A photo, a fragment of reality sent by my mother.
Just a piece of sky, one tree, and some ground,
a beautiful landscape with a hopeful, rising spring.
I am not there, but I feel a gentle wind,
carrying the scent of what is living.
On the tram ride,
I saw the damaged walls of the old house.
Some people still live there.
Are they disturbed or happier than I am?
Appearances can be so confusing and shallow.
Every perspective—another world.
The truth is scattered across small backgrounds.
Why do I feel amazed
that not every puzzle fits?
When I was returning home,
a young man sat next to me.
He started to talk about himself
and a series of unfortunate events.
He was looking at me
as if I was everything
while I was nothing more than a simple listener.
So, I got off, wishing him good luck,
knowing I wouldn't see that person again.
My life is overwhelmed by random encounters.
Now, I watch my memory of past situations.
I’m sifting through unclear interpretations,
wondering why I still dwell on symbols.
I wish I could believe
every circumstance was an opportunity,
a unique chance and not as things are today,
just casual happenstance
without coherence or deeper meaning.
Sometimes I just want things to mean more. Even if they don’t.
