Almost everyone has had a dejà-vu.

You are minding your own business, you are traveling to get to school or your workplace, or you are simply moving inside the place you call home, when suddenly something catches your attention. You are certain that it is something you had already noticed before, yet you are unable to remember where or when. You get over it, convincing yourself that your memory is playing tricks on you. You tell yourself that it is simply a vague reminder of a similar event you experienced in the past.
Well, nine times out of ten you are probably right, but every now and then that sense of dejà-vu will leave you with a discomfort that will settle inside you, remaining hovering in the corner of your head. When you tell a friend or family member, he too will minimize the whole thing by explaining that it is nothing more than a fragment of your imagination itself. And you will end up not paying much attention to it, you will reject that restlessness until it reaches the limits of your subconscious. There that feeling will remain, forget about the guardians of your mind.
At the end of the day you will go to bed feeling a fictitious sense of security, convincing yourself that what you felt will pass by itself after one of the nights rest.
The next day you will wake up feeling fresh and reborn.
The world will appear to you exactly as it always has been. That dejà-vu has already escaped your memory, you can't even remember the profound discomfort you felt at that moment.

You will drink your coffee, or your tea, and observe your same morning rituals, greet your loved ones as you leave and head for school or work.

Yet, as the door closes slowly behind you, there will be faint murmurs. They will disperse with every step you take, while for a moment you will seem to feel something that soon after you will set aside as a simple joke of your wild imagination.

"He doesn't remember anything ..." you'll hear them whisper in a barely audible whisper.

"... and you will never succeed, darling ..."


It takes peaceful thoughts to clear the air, from fears, from distances, to cultivate new life.
It takes climbers of good thoughts.
Bellies full of beautiful things to feel close to us. Breath is needed.
Vigilant, with bated breath, at nightfall.
The contours slowly fade,
Swallowed by the anxious awakening of memory.
Veils of violet and blue arrive
at the appointment with my heart in my throat,
chased and canceled
from a black man who is never satiated.
Only now, with firm steps,
the king of magicians will enter the scene:
it will steal your eyes
and will repeat the trick over and over.
Everything is a color.
Each emotion is a color.
Silence is white.
In fact, white is a color I can’t stand:
it has no borders.
To spend a sleepless night, go blank,
raise the white flag,
leave the blank sheet,
have a blond hair …
In fact, white isn’t even a color.
It is nothing, like silence.
A nothing without words and without music.
In silence: in white.
Each violet like a break in the sky
a company of clouds in bloom.
They bloom at sunset inside the sea.
Do you ever give people a color?

I do and sometimes I am amazed at how some can have all the shades of that color. Thus there is a midnight blue that manages to turn into a crystalline blue of dawn. A powder pink, only apparently insignificant, but always comforting, always the same. An emerald green, an orange that can be dark, a sand color, a gray as smart and brilliant as a cat, but just as soft and to caress (even if it hides it well). Then a fuchsia, an Irish grass green, a sunny yellow that can brighten as much as it burns, an unashamed red and even an olive green. A purple ... which sometimes looks like me so much, even if we are often the exact opposites and we take each other by the hand to give each other a different tone.


Nefele was sitting in her garden. Nephele watched the green walnuts fallen on the grass. She was bored and sad. By now he had had no contact with his parents for seven months. He did not know how to resist memory and nostalgia. He felt an enormous weight on his heart. Having to pretend nothing was terrible for her. When Thomas called to remind her of the party that evening, Nefele snorted. She was tired of all those parties. They all looked the same. She wanted something different. He got up from his chair and entered the house through the French door that opened onto the garden. Then he went up to his room to bathe and choose a pretty sexy dress for the evening. But he had no desire to show off. Then she chose a black dress and a rock crystal necklace. He looked in the mirror and gave himself a touch of purple lipstick. Thomas was ready and went into the room shivering. 《You are my divine sister tonight. ” Nefele turned and looked at him well. 《Save compliments on your pick tonight.》 At each party Thomas eyed a girl and seduced her. It wasn’t a difficult task since he was a beautiful boy.

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