I guess that love is something only for humans. They created it only for themselves because they are the only ones are capable of putting pain and happiness in the same phrase or thought.
For us, the rest, life and death are the only boundaries in between which we are allowed to move forward or backwards, always careful to hide any trace of free will that would contradict their feeling of superiority and uniqueness.
People are good at using us, the inanimate, for their purposes and blame it on the nature that, they say, has taught them symbiosis.
This is how I came to exist other than the wood I was meant to be, fulfilling my destiny of a potential chair material or with any luck the wood from a child's violin.
Because Gepetto needed a boy and the human fate (wood doesn’t have or need one having the fire) gave me the first sign that I might just be something different for growing a conscience while Gepetto was carefully polishing and shaping my future limbs.
Coming to life piece by piece, knowing(cannot explain how) that you are a hand lying on a carpenter's table, ready to be thrown in the fire by mistake of because of the fit of a creator you cannot see while your eyes still sleep in the depths of the matter that has been their world since....forever.
Feet longing to feel the ground they never knew existed, seconds before. Senses waking up and touching the surface of things, scared and all alone, looking for completion without even knowing it.
A whole wooden body inhabited by the ghosts and fears not his own but of the matter striving to deny its nature, learning how to be what is expected of it....
Eyes opened for the first time, trying to understand the light and translate it not as photosynthesis material but as the fine coating of the things only felt before.

To be continued…