Perfection

The perfection can be the most perfect thing and, at the same time, the most chaotic thing.
H2O is perfect because you know that is made up of two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxigen and you know that a molecule is made up of atoms and an atom is made up of neutrons, protons and electrons and these last three are particles with zero, plus or minus charge.
WE KNOW WATER BETTER THAN OUR NEIGHBOURS and this is the reason because is perfect, because we can understand it.

Let's speak about chaos that can show us the other kind of "perfection".
Let's speak about the main topic of music, books, poems, talks, movies, etc etc...
Let's speak about something "corny".
Let's speak about love.

Love is perfect because is absurd.
It is so much not understandable as much it is the kind of "big" question mark that the human being has about how was “born” the little first particle on the Earth.
We can’t know the “mother” of this little and mysterious thing like we can’t know the “mother” of love.
We can suppose several mothers who give birth to love.
Can be the little baby who used to play dice and who didn’t listen at his mother about his “job” (also known as Cupid).
Can be just the cold and sterile chimestry.
Can be the foolishness.
Can be that is just something that happen and you can’t understand it, you can’t do anything to solve or to stop it.
It just goes on alone (but very self confident, in spite of you).
And this chaos make it so perfect, so not understandable and so perfect.

Nolo

I didn't take account, before to leave, of "nolere" to come back.

About the last one

Not enough art.
Too much about me.

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

A stupid song, that's it.
I have just it of her, anything else.

Picture, picture and picture again. But is not enough.

To listen that song again again and again make me sad but is the only feeling that I still have of her (other than the Void) and I want to collect it also if it means tears of my heart, an heart that is like a rock into my bosom, an heavy and empty rock.
How can something useless hurt?

Why do I need so much memories?
Memories that I can't have.
Why do I need so much something that I know from the beginning that I will never able to have?