Time passes me and I am happy
I think I know what people were talking about. I remember that in a positive psychology class I was upset because I couldn't believe that all of our economic investment was spent on hearing legends. They were sure to juggle over time: that if you do what you like, it flies away. Hearing such a thing was like when as a child they sold me eternal life. Obviously in those days my decisions were even worse than today: I didn't buy hope, and today I think that maybe I would have saved myself from a couple of depressions. When I later heard that the flow of time could be altered, I repeat, I was upset.
By that time, I had already developed an antipathy towards any way of thinking that aimed to relieve you. However, the truth is that after school, without anyone seeing me, I ran to lock myself up hypocritically in my room to try to follow the alchemical formula of turning swamps into rivers. Forgive me for the simple image; it is clear, however, as clear as this feeling that after some four years invested in failed attempts, none, humiliations, skepticism, slight advances and very great disappointments, things all experienced during the search for that supposed ability that one could have to be happy and manipulate time, after this I think I can finally say, eureka. I think the worn-out papers that I still don't pick up from my room make sense and I know that their psychic representatives are already evidence of the legend I heard in class. Time passes me by and I'm happy. Main symptom in my depression is to see the future time as a burden, as centuries I still have to live in order not to hurt anyone, that I have to live tired, miserable, hurting. And today... today I want to fill that time with the things and responsibilities I like and care about; time is gold -phrase, again, simple-: it is light, courage, sobbing transmuted to music. He is seen from here as a brilliant herald of eternal life.
