Lovely bones
I've never given much importance to stuff.
Perhaps because I've never cared about anything, before I've met you.
I've never realized what it meant to have a dream, what it felt to truly believe in something, until I've known you, Marco.
When I saw your eyes shining with hope, those eyes that more than anyone else's – more than mine – could see the future, I've thought, even if for a moment, that the future did exist, and that it had nothing to do with the titans' jaws. Or with death.
But the truth is ruthless and inevitable, and it didn't take long to remember it. Not even to close your eyes.
Dreams are an ephemeral and worthless thing in a world like ours – a wrong world. A dead world.
Those dreams belong to the titans, Marco.
And your bones, instead, to the pyre.
Footnote
Oh gosh, this thing stinks. I'm just some italian trash, I've tried to translate one of my work, and I failed, goddammit. Sorry everyone, and Marco, and Jean.
BTW, no copyright infringement intended, not for this piece of crap.