I have a song. Nobody knows it. But I do have a song. It’s a secret one. It’s not finished yet. It hasn’t even been recorded. It’s not yet played by everybody who has to play and sing the song.
But it’s my song. I would have never thought having a song could be so exciting. I never thought I would have a song.
But it’s my song. Because I decided it would. It was not written for me, it’s for another girl. She doesn’t know now it’s mine. But it is. It won’t be again. It will disappear. But at least, once, I had a song. And it was mine. You did not know. She didn’t, either. But I do. A song is like the smoke, is yours as long as it is inside you.
Afterwards, it belongs to everybody: the air, the birds, the dogs, the cars, the city…