THE LOST HOUR

- about daylight savings at the end of March -

        A time comes when the clock hands must be moved over the precipice of an hour, a time comes when there’s no other choice. But I’m afraid. I will lose an hour of my life, an hour which I don’t know what is going to take away from me.
        I’m watching the frame of the clock and I’m afraid. I am afraid of falling asleep… because that hour could slip away through my fingers and I could not be able to stop it….
        The lost hour could take with it the colour of my eyes and tomorrow I could wake up with the blind eyes of a statue lacking the joy of the light. Or maybe that hour will run away with the entire delicate luggage of illusions leaving behind only a faded away Unless  the slipping away hour will take, as a thief, what it will find of most precious : the treasure of the love memories.
        But despite all this, I will allow myself falling asleep… Because beyond the torturing fear, a shy hope is slightly trembling. Maybe the lost hour, the running hour, the slipping hour will take away from my shoulders the heavy bitter skies of the loneliness. But it’s only tomorrow morning that I will find it out.

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