And love looked at time and laughed, because he knew he didn't need him. He pretended to die for a day, and to blossom again in the evening, lawlessly. He fell asleep in a corner of the heart for a non existant time. He ran away without going away, it came back without having left, time died and he remained.
Who lives, when they live, are not seen: they live. If one should see their own life, it means they're not living it anymore: they are subjected to it, they're pulling it.
We all have a world of things within us: everyone their own! And how can we understand each other, sir, if in the words I say I put the meaning and the value of the things within me; whilst he who listens, inevitably, understands them with the meaning and the value that they have for each other, of the world like he has it within him? We think we understand each other, we never understand each other!
Because a reality wasn't given to us and is not there; but we have to make it ourselves, if we want to be; and it will never be one for ever, but constant and infinitely changeable.