Too many things disappoint us for this reason we begin to no longer believe in anything.
Too many people hurt us, so we start not trusting anyone anymore.
Too many things “seem” and then not “are”.
This is why we begin to demand facts without letting words be enough.
I ran, I saw faces,
I talked to me I saw myself from above as you say
I put my things aside like it was dirty
I put the old me aside as if he were dead.
And with the passage of time the faces tend more and more to resemble faces,
and gestures to gestures, as if the chain did not want to break, and to every person who goes,
there was another there to start over,
one not wanted but necessary relay.
At that moment you think you are doing something that,
while going against your principles,
can do you good, can make you feel better
Then the next day,
all the people are ready to judge you,
to treat you badly,
not to talk to you anymore about something that doesn’t concern them in the least,
and they still make you feel like shit is worse than before, because let’s face it,
the comments of the people do not go unnoticed.
I’ve been quite nostalgic lately. I don’t know what it depends on. I have these flashbacks, triggered by some precise action or which come so suddenly. And they catch me off guard, most of the time. What anger I feel. I still don’t understand how it could have happened, how I didn’t realize that it was all just a fiction. This society, paper faces, television faces, mortal statues. I do not understand how I lived things, with that immeasurable naivety of the lilies, there on the piece of furniture while they watch the world die. Maybe that’s what I miss most of all, that happy version of me. Nothing seems up to it now, nothing seems to me really worth it. And that makes me lost, exasperated. I’m tired of living these empty, emotionless days. I feel I need a shock, that thrill that makes me wake up from all this apathy, all this emptiness that has led me to no longer be me. I feel I have to do something, but I am paralyzed, overwhelmed. I just need those real emotions that fill. And the emotion that filters the world out there is fear of death.


What if it was all in vain? Do you still want to swim, go to the sea, see that marvel of transparent nature. I saw a dolphin come back and the turtles find silent places, the blue becomes deep and the clouds protect us from the heat. It was a wonderful dream but you know, then you wake us up and you find yourself on a beach full of bottles, masks and gloves, the turtles have just suffocated, the dolphins float after having worn out your mask and the clouds do not exist, the heat has become too much for me. I stay closed at home maybe we should get used to it. A dream is not valid but reality kills us.
The more the pain sinks into you, the less you see the wound. Like certain rivers that flow underground, pain, when it is true, is water that slips away without making a sound, a force that erodes and that over there changes the shape of things but, from the outside, they are only stones and silence, the sound of footsteps on the gravel, dry smell.
At certain times of the year and with the right conditions, they swell.
They grow huge, seethe with rage,
charge up and get impetuous, overwhelming anything in their path.
So frighteningly powerful, careless and deafening.
In other periods, however, they become small, shy, thin and calm.
We see them creating new paths among the pebbles,
frightened and lost, inside a bed that until some time before was so full of their own furious being.
Without NEVER interrupting their continuous flow.
Don’t stop, that’s their imperative;
Towards their goal. Towards the sea.
That’s why I like them.
Two faces of the same revolution.
I watch them, listen to them, admire them, in awe of their determination.

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