Et qu'est-ce que ça veut dire?
The party was a terrible idea.
I wish I could describe everything that I’ve suddenly realized.
Time shifts to the irregular beat of a Norwegian fiddler. I know someone one day, and the next day I can’t remember their face. Maybe we truly are living second lives, for here am I, always reaching for contact with others yet always taking everyone for granted. I never know that anything has truly been meaningful for me until it has slipped through my fingers. And yet, while I think I have been this way as long as I can remember, it seems to have gotten worse since coming to Eupheme, this true beauty that reveals itself in transience, a minute too late for me to glimpse it.
Everything is fluid. I cannot hold onto anything. There must be something, but I haven’t found it yet. A week is a short time, but even within this span, I may have gone so far as to feel like I’m losing my faith. Beloved faces, warm hands, kind smiles, wishes of peace, the grace of God, they swim away into the streams of memory and are carried off while I stand on the shore. I watch everything drown... as if it were all his Léopoldine.
Demain, dès l’aube, a l’heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos corbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.
I wish I could describe everything that I’ve suddenly realized.
Time shifts to the irregular beat of a Norwegian fiddler. I know someone one day, and the next day I can’t remember their face. Maybe we truly are living second lives, for here am I, always reaching for contact with others yet always taking everyone for granted. I never know that anything has truly been meaningful for me until it has slipped through my fingers. And yet, while I think I have been this way as long as I can remember, it seems to have gotten worse since coming to Eupheme, this true beauty that reveals itself in transience, a minute too late for me to glimpse it.
Everything is fluid. I cannot hold onto anything. There must be something, but I haven’t found it yet. A week is a short time, but even within this span, I may have gone so far as to feel like I’m losing my faith. Beloved faces, warm hands, kind smiles, wishes of peace, the grace of God, they swim away into the streams of memory and are carried off while I stand on the shore. I watch everything drown... as if it were all his Léopoldine.
Demain, dès l’aube, a l’heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos corbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.