I was alone and the trees around made that noise that you hear when they drop everything they have on them and there was silence, but at the same time the sound of thuds, branches, leaves in motion even if everything seemed still, an orange butterfly yes stops on my arm and looks at me, whole minutes have passed in which the only thing that brought me back to the present was my own breath. I’m also trying to let parts of me die and fall off like dead leaves or rotten fruit, but I’m not a tree. Sometimes it all seems so difficult, opening up to the world, trying to explore it being afraid of what might be found in the dark. Sometimes it’s all so difficult, sometimes it’s hard even to love. Nobody teaches us to love, there are no rules or notions to follow, of course there are generic ways of behavior but no written law or particular teaching on love. It is not said that those who love in silence love less than those who shout it to the world. It is not certain that those who love in the light of day love more than those who love by hiding in darkness. It is not certain that those who clash by pulling repressed anger in the soul love less than those who love in silence, keeping the pain inside. Yet, despite this, we tend to classify love on a pyramid system made up of actions, behaviors that are placed above or below other actions of those who have shown better or worse. It is said that love is not beautiful if it is not a quarrel, but why is it said? Perhaps only to create a moment of normality in unnecessary quarrels or perhaps because if there is no conflict there is no intersection between thoughts and points of view that will then bind to each other, who knows when. In fact, the key to everything will be the clash, as happens in the universe. Two galaxies, in the course of their collision, can remain united in a single element by merging with each other, or they can move away from each other again, leaving reciprocal elements in them. This is the key to everything, the confrontation. Love is like the universe, it’s up to you to figure out how to act.


So don't be forgiven.
It had never happened to me to consider you.
A project, but a sound of some good technique.
However, there is no remedy for wanting to be.
At all costs; at this time, if you need it, you can find it
a few pieces of slipper and pictures
of the evening of choices.

It's late, it was really early to make some big mistake again.
Time to tidy up the pose,
or to clear up the spasms;
but the keys
they weren't already anymore,
were no longer the years,
The moments, the vigorous alliances of living.
I would invent,
to start over where
the disillusionment weighed heavily.

Cracked belly, but it is not then
so bad to just be, the words
they no longer rummage.
In the adage everything
it can hatch into a bored lie.
Or in a cry that wanted to be alone
in the damp that always saves.

Look, you are free, a thief will come
and he will want to steal you because he will never understand.
Be the images of the evening
of the inner galaxies, of the mature revolts,
be all my times; on this side
of your hand the shore from which the good ones
proposals reintroduce the shortcomings
and they believe they have changed.
Nothing is true.

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