Intersectia Onicescu-Primaverii-alee cu fantana

Nu ai vrea, pentru o secunda infima, ca toate minciunile pe care le spui sa devina adevarate? Nascute dintr-o viata neinteresanta, care ar fi vrut sa fie mult mai mult, care ar fi trebuit sa fie a ta, imprumutata prin sinapse degradate.
Nu ai vrea, cat vorbesti prin telefonul cu acel-cineva sau alt nume a carui semnificatie nu vrei sa o atesti... sa oferi chiar ceva din viata ta... oh, dar deja o faci, in fundal... crezi, cel putin. Dar nu se observa.
Si de ce cand iti spun sinceri lucruri pe care le cred sincer, nu reactionezi? Recunosc, as vrea sa reactionezi, sa-ti schimbi punctul de vedere auzindu-ma, ceea ce nu ar trebui. Dar de ce... e frustrant... si n-am sa mai fac asta.
Sunt un idiot si vreau ca cineva sa ma iubeasca pentru asta. Ca tine, si ca tine si ca voi toti...

Undeva intre ziua in care te nasti si cea in care mori vei crede ca intelegi... dar va fi fals. Nu exista un singur moment in care intelegi. Intelegerea e un proces, e o devenire. Nu ajungi la ea, traiesti prin ea.

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