she’ll die young.

several times — it can’t be helped.

she’ll wake up in the morning and die,

being reborn in the hours between burial

and bedtime.

she knows it must be so.

every minute, then,

between dying and dreaming,

is velvet red,

moss green

and deep cerulean.

she flies over a wintry moon

with flocks of wild geese;

charms dragons into politeness;

frees innocent prisoners.

nothing is impossible

if she can keep believing.

which, many days,

is the hardest part

of her adventures.

she knows she’ll die young —

she fights by living —

sometimes breathing is all

she can do.

but she doesn’t give up.

so long as one breath

follows another,

she can live a thousand years

in a millisecond.

strangers often become friends;

so it shall be with her.

she’ll die young.

many times.

it can’t be helped.


2 thoughts on “heroine

  1. Pierre says:

    As long as in dying she is reborn, as long as every step is a possible destiny, as long as her spirit widens reaching new heights, and her eyes ever wide to engulf new scenes.
    But why does death comes as she wakes up in the morning, at the beginning of the day? Is it because it is then that one puts up his mask to go out into the land of the “living”, out there where one is never oneself.

    [… She cries, you fool, because she has lived!
    And because she lives! But what she deplores
    Most of all, and what makes her tremble down to her knees,
    Is that tomorrow, alas!, she must go on living!
    Tomorrow, and the next day, and forever! — like us!]

    Charles Baudelaire, Le Masque

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