A white room, a window the size of a wall, overlooking a forest and a rainy town. A bed. I am standing in the center of the room. It is the end of a dream and I am aware of it, but what can I do? I can’t wake up, I have to keep dreaming. I see a bucket with paint next to my bare feet, I take a brush and start painting. I paint on those white walls, I paint a purple sunset, a red sunset, a black, yellow, blue sunset. That sunset is taking me to another dream, I’m sure … I leave the house, but I feel strange: that is not my house, that is not me. I am a girl of about twelve, with long blond hair and a white handkerchief tied on my head to protect me from the sun. Wait a minute … From the sun? I look around and immediately realize that I am in an enchanted valley. Huge dragons fly overhead, and equally large dinosaurs graze grass in the vast green meadows. Observing them better I notice something that immediately makes me sad. Dinosaurs are black and white. I immediately run into the house and take some pencils, so begins my journey to that enchanted valley where I have decided to color all those dinosaurs that make me so sad. After a while, however, I discover that the dinosaurs I have colored are dying. The people are in revolt, the hunt for the dinosaur stainer begins immediately, so I decide to escape. I take refuge in a tavern, where an old lady recognizes me. Determined to hand me over to her people, she begins to chase me, I take refuge in the basement. There I find a straw broom, so I get on it and fly away … I run away from the lady of the tavern, I run away from the dinosaurs, from the dragons, from that enchanted valley, from that dream that has become a strange and disturbing nightmare …
“Make a wish.” And then a chuckle. I woke up around four in the morning with an uncontrollable urge to feel the carpet under my feet. So I got out of bed, this time inexplicably rested. A comforting clean scent hovered all around. I walked down the hall regretting having forgotten my slippers – the marble was dirty and cold unlike the indigo blue carpet in the room – and in total darkness I pushed the bathroom door without making it creak. Maybe just a little. Inside, the mirror bulbs remained on. The ones that worked. Was it possible that I had left them? The tiles glistened and flowed along the shower cubicle rails like dominoes. A soft and pleasant steam exhaled from the towels, the sink knobs transmuted into a nice face of a mechanical toad. Next to the soap dish, a luminous inscription: “Make a wish”. I opened the hot water and stroked the bar of soap a dozen times, focusing on something I wanted, but I couldn’t think of anything. There was only bubbles and laughter. I wanted to wake up instantly. But it didn’t happen


Have you ever thought about how beautiful soap bubbles are? They have their short but beautiful life, which depends on who blows. And without bothering, they get to the point where they can no longer resist and burst, without making noise, without disturbing. They die in silence.
Do you know what the most beautiful thing is? Finding ourselves in the midst of people, like two simple people, and meeting our eyes. It is in that instant that all that the senses are based on vanishes. We are left alone with our complicity, to remember those moments spent together that no one can imagine and perhaps in doing so, an embarrassed smile also appears. As you always tell me, we are linked by an invisible thread that allows us to be part of each other, living our moments in our soap bubble, leaving out everything else and letting ourselves go into the arms of Eros.
In a soap bubble, you know those of a thousand colors, transparent and graceful This is how I feel In perfect balance Even a light and delicate breath would be enough to break it and make me fall to the ground in pain. Soap bubbles are like dreams, they break at the most beautiful moment. Do you know when you are in your bed, you are having a good dream and you wake up on time? this is an example of how soap bubbles, how dreams cannot last forever, sooner or later they will break. And in the foam drown the defects that had stuck to the skin, and while I hold my breath, I count the minutes that separate me from the darkness, then I blow into a bubble all the pain that slips away with the current. And I rise from the waters, naked, with mascara stars that decorate my red cheeks with missed breaths.

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