The wheel

Not all days are equal before eternity even if, like limping waves on a river, they live more or less the same existence. Thoughts do not all have the same value even if, in shaky ripples on an ocean, they die stubbornly on the horizon.

Fatigue, in both cases, is the same, prehensile wear that clings to the available energies. We must continue to roll our humps, to insist, like these curls, on making the necessary effort, to hope, and to believe in its value.

It would be so much easier to dream of a relaxed sea. Everything calls us to it and leads us there. Fortunately, the stubborn flame of life blows into me.