TIME AND LIFE

Time and life are both like lines. Moving linearly, never coming back.

Time continues, forward. Life ends, suddenly.

When you live a life, is like a script of a plot, with interacting actors, that can love, exist or become known to each other. The plot tells the story of successes and disappointments, love and hate, always forward. There is no flash back.

Time plays with life as they move alongside each other. From young we become old, from close we become distant, we change tastes as we change lovers. The plot never repeats itself. It is only played once. Like in a train, “all aboard”, shouts the conductor. If you miss it, it will never come back, moves only ahead.

There is empathy between the beings that live in this linear drama. For some inexplicable reason we believe that we knew each player of this plot. For an even more strange reason, we think that we will see them, again, in that so called “after life”.

But the plot, unique in its story, unique in its performance, can exist in books, reports, notes and scribbles, even in the small talk of the ones left aside, the ones that stayed after the show is over.

But the life, when extinct, does not register no more. It is gone. 

In the other world, while in the station, life waits for the train about to arrive. A new script is written. A new story will be told. A new time line, in its own relativity, will be there, going in the same direction, always forward.

A new plot is drawn, with different roles for the same old actors.

All of them will think that know each other, all will feel that there is an inexplicable sensation of a “déjà vu”.

But the faces are not the same, neither the names, their roles. In truth, they barely know who they are. They may not even like some of the players, but they know they were being part of an old play, a play they will never remember.

A new script will be created, with its own time line.

 It may tell of a love to be found. Could it be the one from the previous story?

Maybe... More certain, in this new story, will be of different loved ones, nothing like the ones that once were.

When life was gone, the other side opened its door. One may say that the lives that extinguished may communicate, may encounter each other. But they will have no form. There will be no hugs, there will be no kisses. In there, only the certainty that there is love, magic empathy. A brief moment is created, just enough to adjust and learn the new script.

The train arrives. “All aboard” will say the conductor. The new game of life will start, somewhere, sometime, somehow, in another theater.

The time, parallel to life, will follow forward. There will be only the assurance that time will move along, but the show…ah…the show certainly will have an end.

I would like if I could choose my role. Maybe I chose the one that I currently perform. But like the time that passes along, my lines are finishing and the others, which are yet to be written, will tell another story.

In that plot, I do not know who I will be.