The soundtrack to our lives

Do you ever get the feeling, when you listen to a song you really liked in the past, that its momentum has expired?

You used to listen to it so often, that at some point (probably listen number 36) the music blended in with your life inconspicuously; it became synonym with whatever you were living at that moment.

Life is a continuum you can’t really split into chapters, but there are certainly some events that mark the end of an era, a turning of the wheel in a different direction, and those are the moments when music gets old.

It’s a process that happens so naturally, that you don’t even notice it until it’s over. And once it’s over, each note of that old song becomes an intruder in a moment that now belongs to a new song: the one you should be listening to.

That is unless you’re feeling nostalgic, of course. Then it’s okay to let the soundtrack to your life carry you through that bittersweet ride down memory lane.


La couleur du temps

Time, that double-edge sword, treacherous friend, who turns into honey even the bitterest of memories. It tricks us into giving more value to things that would have otherwise been worthless. A newspaper clipping, 50 years added, will become an invaluable relic and a window to a distant past. A teenage crush is a passionate love in the heart of an old man. We worship magnificent castles that belonged to ancient tyrants, forgetting the many lives that perished under their rule.

Time is a painter whom with its soft colors almost imperceptibly decorates our memory. With its graceful hands every instant becomes a true chef-d’œuvre capable of inspiring the deepest emotions.

I am here, here as an adjective of time, standing at Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris. I can appreciate this moment in its full splendorous beauty. I think not of the history of this place, nor the story behind its paradoxical name. I look at the sun as it descends, marking the end of a moment that will be later remembered. I am not a victim of time, yet.

But even I cannot deny that perhaps many years from now, I will be standing on this very spot, or maybe not even, and time will easily turn the contemplation of this moment into something even more stunning.

I can only hope that when it happens, my heart is able to bear such intensity.

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