The lives of the others

Nobody repairs anything anymore. Everything is replaced; a love with another one, a life with another, a world with another, a way with another one.

But we change these ones too with others exactly as we change our clothes.

I remember my mother how she took the needle and mended life where she saw it was torn. Let aside the love between her and my father. It was all full of patches. But you would say it was new and this is how it was until the end.

The same was the love between grandma and grandpa. The same it was the world where they lived. They washed it at night with homemade soap to take it in the morning clean from the rope. It was their world, they did not long for another one. They were content with the one they had, it always smelled freshly even it was fading at the collar and the seam thinned at the wrists.

If in our world from today there would be on every street a workshop for mending love and life nobody would come in. We got used to replace them. That is why we never love till the end as we start dying from childhood as we always live the lives of others and wherever we would go many times we don`t reach any place at all.

Ștefan Mitroi


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