Sadness and Her.

“Be happy now.”  She said,” Tomorrow I will start teaching you to be sad.”

And that’s how it started, once upon a time, not long ago, melancholia, growing onto me, like a malignant disease, infecting every sect of my soul.  

But she was the stray of our generation, philosopher of the lost cause, deluded by fiction and emptied by hope, bickering and absolving to forget the plentiful past filled with a plethora of people, people who were like dreams, the beautiful people from a beautiful time, the happy people.

She was sad, she wanted to be, because that’s where the meaning lies she said, in sadness, and I loved her like I loved every sad thing.

I loved her like every sad poem I ever read and every sad song I ever heard.

“You are my sad bet,

And I am your favorite pet.

 Forever.” 

 I said.

The Will to Live.

As he was watching the sunset a sudden thought invaded his brain, and in a fit of scientific ‘de ja vu’ he remembered that the earth had gone around the sun almost 4.5 billion times, a fact he learned in his science book in the summer of his youth.
And now he was there approaching only his 25th trip around the Sun. He knew he would make a few more trips while the earth will keep on going for a few billion years more, without him, to witness the sunset. He found it so unfair. 
And in the helm of all the scientific thoughts he realized the meager unimportance of his existence, something he could not comprehend in the small cabin of his apartment.
Mortality never stood a chance he thought, he wanted to witness the sunset again and again for a billion years more. And that’s when he decided to be immortal.
 He decided to paint. He painted the sunset in the shades of all the colors his modest palette could create, of all the colors his canvas could hold, because some wise man once said,

“the idea is not to live forever but to create something that will.”

And that’s when he knew that his existence is not limited by the shackles of mortality, its beyond that, he will exist in his creation, in his art, for a billion years more, until everything becomes stardust and creation begins again.