Eyes of the heart inside a ring,
They wrote sad words of sin:
The wrong time,
The wrong beat,
The wrong night It was raining and you were crushed.
The wind was deserted,
the night dark,
You had a thought that warmed up,
You took it with you inside the hotels of iron.
And then he came,
with a shadow in his heart,
devouring donuts,
devouring the dust of ancient houses.
You wanted to escape the grave,
and your rose was still alive.
Then the flower turned daisy yellow,
Wine had the last drop on his heart And the car went into the ravine.





Crazy people,




Those like this live on kindness, sharing.

Free souls, at peace with each other and with mother nature.

Graceful spirits in harmonious connection with each other.

Burning with life, hungry for beauty.

Those who have left

the handrail for some time

and they don't remember the way they went

let alone that of the return.

Masters and slaves of the truth

Rarity in short.


The Moth Animal Spirit can relate to the secrets you hold deeply within yourself and the knowledge and wisdom you have acquired over the years. It can represent your attraction for good and evil and the frailty you feel with every choice, your faith and determination, and is also associated with clairvoyance and psychic abilities.
The Moth represents the truth that you cannot see because you find yourself groping in the dark, but when the rest is illuminated, everything becomes as clear as day.
The Moth also represents your passions and the things that give you pleasure.
This Animal Spirit is full of initiative and determination. Nothing will stop him from getting what he wants, even if it means being consumed by fire. Your totem pole wants you to be bold and brave.

Don't let your fear of rejection or failure stop you from getting what you want! You have the gift of attraction. If you commit and focus on what you want, you can easily attract the people and energies that will help you come out triumphant.


It burns.
He wants new life:
this is my heart.

Yet I know how much it can be her golden shower
yet it is discouraged in front of revealing itself, 
saying it is eager,
to the longing to return to peaks of joy irradiated with the light of love.

As the caterpillar forces the shell to come out, 
it must be my heart:
 it must become aware of itself and understand that it is worth, 
and reclaim its joy.


Hard rock,
a gentle constant,
beloved unknown,
Veiled touch,
the different girl,
as he dances he looks out.
And he is inside her
and wants to climb a mountain.
But do you really want to climb it?
The different girl misses a simple step.
It is resumed.
The rain comes down,
he also goes down to the mountain where he waits for the start.
But he's only in his head,
he tells her bad things,
she falls and gets hurt.
He comes out of the dance room,
cut in two by this conflict:
to be with him or to be with herself?
Time goes fast,
the other dancers follow the hands,
she is still sitting in the locker room, she doesn't know what to do.
The rain comes harder,
he falls from the mountain,
there he is at his feet, he's a tiny being,
like a little elf,
it's her Ego, and it's dancing for her,
just for her.
The different girl smiles.
She gets up and goes back to the room, light,
sweet, a feather of a cloud.


Eyes to the sky, a dark sky, without stars. The silence, dark and cold, with no more screeching. A window that separates me from that world that fits me tight. Nothing to upset me. Me, the silence and the coolness of a April dressed in November. The arms resting on the railing and the head that slowly becomes heavy. What’s giving out? The heart, the mind or the body? And perhaps in the end it is the heart that carefully chooses the most painful moments, those moments in which to turn off because enduring is no longer allowed, because at a certain point endurance is no longer human. And anger arrives, pain arrives, tears arrive, disappointment arrives and loneliness also arrives, because anyone in front of your pain does not understand and yells at you. Or maybe in the end the problem is just you, who always believe so innocently that you are so hurt that you don’t want anything anymore. In the end, it’s not even worth it anymore. The lights beyond that window go out, the screams cease, and you can go back to lie down on a bed drenched in hidden tears.


It gives the chills to think about how much your life can change in a year. A year ago, today, I was probably wondering if you were happy. If I really need to split up with another person. If I had to give our story a second chance. Second, more than second, I don’t know, last? I do not know. Only a few months later I found the courage to choose me, risking realizing, one day, perhaps today, that I was not enough alone, risking that day to regret not having given the last, plus one, chance to that love story. Because it was love. I don’t know what love it was, but it was a kind of love, no matter what. Today I am different, today I am a woman, I feel more powerful, more important, more mature. I feel it is possible, to be enough for yourself. It is possible to be enough. Frida said that first you had to fall in love with yourself, with life, and then with another person. Then. Well I didn’t even love myself, let alone life. But I loved another person. Maybe that was what was wrong, what pulled me to the bottom. The order. I remember that moment well, the moment I began to love myself, the moment I began to feel that I had a value. And there what do you do, what do you do when you believed that the love of another was enough to feel loved, and suddenly you discover that it is not so. For me it was like opening a door to which I never had the key. One day I got up and kicked that door down. And how do you go back when you understand how to love yourself, and that you can love yourself much more than another can? Don’t come back. And I didn’t come back.


to want to understand,
but now I say to myself,
I lie down and relax.
I have stopped looking for the definition of an emotional state that has no boundaries.
Delimited my senses by an unreal fear, free my arms, I direct them upwards.
spores, germinations,
confusions of wanting to do many things and not being able to do them anymore.
Destination not reached,
destination not earned.
I remain as still as I expected
a new wave that engulfs me
and with his retreat you take me with you.
I wait, I wait now with half-closed eyes.
you bring,
juices of heaven,
open refrigerators.
Apocalypses of beds, of uncertain boys, troublesome writers.
They all give orchids to me who love tulips.
dust of things,
objects in ashes,
an explosion of sun,
in the morning without tears.
I sprout like a fish that becomes a mermaid.



From the horizon of the one you loved, you return to fully inhabit the visual field. It happens like this. On an ordinary day. Without notice.

It has a strange effect when you realize that you are holding the massive armored door of your heart open with one foot and that you keep holding it open. It is you who allow the blazing light of emotions to filter inside, beyond the blurry shadow of the dark alleys where you were hiding. You don't quite understand why you do it. You just know that you feel an excitement doing it. It doesn't cost you any effort. You don't even wonder why you don't close it. In fact, you don't run away. You feel only the new and urgent need to show yourself openly. - It can't be true - you tell yourself.

A breath of fresh air bursts into your life and sniffs you out from behind the scenes. You rediscover yourself hungry for emotions. Understand that the inner world can be lived and not just described. You even let go of the worry about the ending. It matters little. What matters is to live it. In a continuous shock.

You no longer feel love as a threat but as a real possibility of encountering the world of the other, without macroscopic distinctions: you find the courage to approach it. You no longer worry about protecting your borders from the onslaught of a concrete presence: you agree to investigate the tortuosity of your life, sharing them.

You climb over barriers. You abandon yourself to the enchantment of the moment. You reach out with a smile beyond the line of memories. Pushed by an irrational unleashing of your impulses, you pour yourself completely away from your asphyxiated family habitat. Push your limits a little further. A step beyond the tangle of feelings that have remained entangled in the memory in a more or less latent form. Beyond the lacerations, doubts and insecurities. Beyond the forest of question marks that had kept you company behind the windows from which you continued undeterred to observe the world. Beyond the contradictions, ambivalences and despair inherent in a difficult and troubled love. Beyond that melancholy mood that had been the background to the ever-changing flow of days. Beyond the painful and resigned awareness, the chilling fear and the bewilderment of loss. Far from the discomfort that miraculously ceases to be such.

You pass from the ground of alienation directly to the stage. You abandon the guise of an impassive observer and those of an unfinished character. You return to the scene. You do it as a protagonist this time.

You pass from the closed door of the heart to the open door of the soul. Without running away from something, from someone. Without running away from yourself anymore.

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