Wings of Desire

CHILD

When the child was a child,
it walked with its arms swinging.

It wanted the stream to be a river,
the river a torrent…
and this puddle to be the sea.

When the child was a child,
it didn’t know it was a child.

Everything was full of life,
and all life was one.

When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything.

It had no habits.

It often sat cross-legged,
took off running…
had a cowlick in its hair,
and didn’t pull a face…
when photographed.

Look.

The consolation of lifting one’s head
out here in the open…

of seeing the colors
enlightened by the sun…
in all men’s eyes.

At last mad, no longer alone.
At last mad, at last redeemed.
At last mad, at last at peace.

At last an internal light.

When the child was a child,
it was the time of these questions:

Why am I me, and why not you?

Why am I here, and why not there?

When did time begin, and where does space end?

Isn’t life under the sun just a dream?

Isn’t what I see, hear and smell just a
mirage of the world before the world?

Does evil actually exist,
and people who are really evil?

How can it be that I, the one I am,
wasn’t there before I was there…
and that some time I, the one I am,
no longer will be the one I am?

This is an excerpt of the script of the movie. According to my best friend, movie falls short of expectations, yet the script remains absolutely beautiful. Wether or not you agree with every line is another point altogether.

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