The Beauty

“I am an average man, with a great envy to the spirits that walk on the top of the hills and at the depths of the oceans. I can neither rise nor fall, I live on the bottom of the hills or on the shores. This is my destiny, to be an average man. I have not much to add on to the earth, just a waste of resources.” He despised his existence, regreting he couldn’t be more than that. If he once, if he could once, if he could have once, stopped the world, then he would overcome this disgrace, but what for? No reason he had, he didn’t have any desires left after she left, suddenly taking all the colours of his life with her, leaving him hanging in the blacks and whites whirling in an aimless mind.

H thought the beauty was destructive, for he had no meaning before it, and after it, for he only had a meaning relatively to it. Beauty had such a power that he thought it was something he possessed, he could possess, but not. He learnt it the hard way that the beauty itself is just an idea, never an object someone can get hold of it. Like time, only experience of it stays behind, only the taste of it, and then it pasts, it is a slipping memory you loose.

It was for him the only way out, to stop the thoughts floating in his mind and surrender to the emptiness of a mind, like an artist who could paint a blank canvas on his canvas, and reach that level of understanding that the art is reflected the best when one gives up on the form and colours. It is where the poet silences his lips and the writer stops his pen. H knew the beauty is better when one doesnt look at it, for every sight is a useless effort for captivating it. He wanted to turn his eyes from the black and white pictures whirling in his mind, wanting to escape from a nasuea, he swallowed. H is now sitting on a bench looking at the coast, where he was feeling alright at the level of sea, without any heights or depths pushing his boundaries. But he wondered, how could he be a free man, if he couldnt stand the idea of being left behind with a handful experience only, nothing else, no beauty he could touch, no time he could keep.

As an average man, as a man of sea level, scared of heights and depths of existence, scared of the overhelming power of the beauty and of his despair in front of her black and white statue rising through the walls of his mind, could he ever be a free man?

He left the bench and started to walk in wonder. First time since he started to think he really desired something from tip to toe. He felt a desire for something, for being a free man.

He thought how beautiful it would be. He felt nausea and swallowed once more for it to pass.

free man

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