People often confuse love with cages.
With the "no" shouted in the morning, and which often echo throughout the day.
With the disappointed face of someone who sees you reach your goals, but is not happy for you.
I often wonder what love is, I know it in many forms, but it sure isn't that.
Depriving a human being of his or her freedom can never get anywhere near the greatness of this feeling.
The heart in the throat, the eyes shining with happiness when you see the other person happy, the beats that increase when you touch your hands and observe yourself minutely, this looks a little more like us.
Spurring the other person to grow, to make difficult choices, to go out with other people, to know the world even without you, this is another level, this is pure love.
Jealousy is love within its limits, it is love as long as it remains a game, as long as it is limited to cute adolescent phrases that we carry with us a little because we don't want to grow up and a little because life has taught us that no one will stay with us forever. , and the terror of being alone grips us.
But our fears do not allow us to deprive those around us of their freedom, man is a social animal, Aristotle said it and I firmly repeat it in the twenty-first century.
Being terrified of greeting someone when you are in the company of our so-called "love" is not normal.
Just as there are not constant scenes that come even if another person looks at you, as if you are to blame or that he had to gouge out his eyes.
Love, love, love, much praised and much hated.
You realize this "love" has only hurt you when you look for yourself and you can't find it anymore.
And it's too late, because you fell into it.
After all, today you understand and tomorrow you will return from that love, because you are no longer into it, it is enough now it eats you alive.
My love is in the supermarket of the heart.
Take my love, you'll find it on the shelves in the sweets section.
On the shelf between the "Abbracci" and "Coccole" biscuits from Mulino Candido.
Just below the "Baci" della Perdindirindina.
It is not obvious but its value is justified by the high quality.
100% pure love, first choice.
Do not be distracted by discounted offers, 3x2 or convenience prices, with love there is no discount, Trust me.
You will be entitled to the loyalty card, it will be your love alone and that of no other person.
My love is not in a poke, you can find it in a transparent crystal vase to see the high quality. No misleading, retouched or misleading images about the content. You can find it in the healthy and natural things department.
Few and simple ingredients, no preservatives or antioxidants. My love follows time and transforms with it, like good wine. When you uncork me it will always be an intoxicating experience.
If you put my love in your cart you will not regret it, you will like it so much that you will lick your fingers.
Attention, the offer is limited to one person. Do not lose the opportunity.
Warm and fragrant in winter as well as fresh and intoxicating in summer, you can consume it as you like, alone or with the addition of passion fruit.
When you have opened my love, keep me in a sheltered place, close to you. I have no deadline, I can last a lifetime if you want.
I do not leave crumbs and not dirty, my love is clean do not have delay and consume it quietly on the sofa as well as in bed.
You cannot find it online, but you have to take it directly with your own hands, only in this way you will be sure to always have it with you.
Do not waste time, the promotion is about to expire you may not find it anymore. Hurry up!
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.
When they tell you that you are bloody cold, distant, suspicious, bitch .. when they tell you that you never fall in love, that you don't give what you get, that you never trust anyone .. When they tell you that around you you have created a barrier and do not let anyone get near you .. Do not get angry, they can't know. They can't know that you created that barrier with the bricks they threw at you. They don't know how long you had to go through before being who you are. They don't know how much love you gave before you didn't have any more. They don't know how many times you've always fallen in love with the same person, and how many times you've said to yourself "this is the right time" and instead each time it was always the same story. They do not know that you loved that person so much that you compensated "his non-love" for your "too much love". They do not know that that "too much love" has often given others a way to trample you, put you in the background, take advantage of your good faith. They don't know that love was your destruction. They don't know you had the damn habit of putting heart and soul into everything you did. They don't know that you have given your loving heart into the wrong hands. They don't know that every person you let into your life for an excuse or another has found a way to leave, and every time they left they carried a piece of your heart. . They don't know how long it took you to collect each piece of that heart and try to put it together. Piece by piece, step by step .. And if I could show it, it would be exactly like that. Wounded, bruised, destroyed, broken, attached by a thread to keep him together .. Yet looking at him, despite everything he has not stopped beating. Do not apologize, do not be ashamed if you are no longer the person you were, if now you have more scars than ever, if now before trusting it takes a long time, if you no longer give that love, if you are suspicious and many times even a bitch .. scolding yourself for all this you have only learned to protect that heart that too many times you have allowed to hurt.
It took me time to accept the pushes, the approaches, the distances. Until I realized that there is no void between people. In that place between souls things happen, things that have always continued. Promises that know of smiles, tears, necessary silences that know of trust. Life is a dance disguised as a struggle, where the only one who loses is those who do not believe. Those who do not gently and delicately caress their own pain and that of the other, those who do not sit at the door as on the seashore and not to wait but to take care, with love of that dull noise, in the shadow from so far. The heart knows, the heart sees, even when the eyes are blind and full of anger. Give time to time, everything is fine.
We must never forget that even the Shadow is interior, it is not something that objectively exists out there, and when it has dissipated within us, it will also recede into the world. The more people have access to the new state of consciousness, the harder it will be for the dark side to maintain control over the territory. At first they will impose more and more liberticidal measures, almost compulsively, but at a certain point they will have to let go of those who no longer resonate with their vibration.Everything that “the monster” does to demolish the light ultimately only strengthens the light. Each path by which he attempts to annihilate the power of the Heart only creates a direct confrontation. The Shadow has a purpose. It affects you in your frailties, stimulates pain, disturbs you so that you become aware of your value. In the end it does not die, but it dissolves. It integrates by giving back to you what you deserve. This is why it is not the lukewarm and fearful who are saved, but those who rebel against their fears. For this reason the Righteous has nothing to do with the do-gooder. Courage is in your Shadow. In the illusion of separation, that’s the only thing you have to deal with.Love, my dear love, I know you close to me … with your beautiful face. If you change your name, accent, heart and age, it will certainly be your face that will not betray me. The eyes of your face, love, have for me the patient light of the stars … of the night, of the sea, of islands without stopovers, I fear nothing if you will be there to recognize me. My love, from far away, for you, I have perhaps come. And God knows where we will go now? How long have you been looking for my vanished shadow? When did I lose you? In what life? What would heaven dare against us now?
It was at that moment that I found myself facing a dark figure with a veiled face. Suddenly, by chance, without my expecting her or her looking for me. We found ourselves, and all of a sudden my heart appeared on the palm of his right hand. Big, red and pulsating, big enough to allow me to recognize its various components in their smallest details.
The figure moved his right arm towards his chest, and our hearts met for the first time. Maybe minutes passed, maybe hours or maybe days, and the figure continued to hold my heart in its hand, while it beat in unison with the organ of the mysterious person. If then this figure was human.
Days and days passed, probably weeks, and the causes of our lives continued to be known.
Until, something changed. His right arm moved away from the figure's chest, taking his hand and heart with it. The separation brought a cold detachment between us, something akin to the Berlin Wall. Walls and walls to divide us; our people had lost their tune, they were no longer traveling on the same wavelength, nor were our hearts composing more wild musical chords. The figure began to emanate negativity, and this struck me deeply: my heart, up to that moment of a brilliant red, began to blacken. Black and gray took possession of me instant after instant, and the figure in front of me performed an action entirely new to me: taking the heart, it began to tighten. I fell to my knees, while a severe pain I had never felt struck not only my chest, but my whole body. The pain crept into every vein and artery of my body, every organ and system. Chills certainly not of cold began to flow inside me, and as I closed my eyes praying that all this would end, I felt big tears wet my cheeks. I opened my eyes again, and saw my heart, now entirely black, becoming dust in the hands of the figure.
So slowly my vision blurred, and, falling to the ground, as I saw for the last time the figure to which I had entrusted my own heart, I thought bitterly how blind I had been.
I feel the movement of the wind, it creeps between my fingers, transforms my blue dress making it sway like sea water.
melancholy hits me, I close my eyes and breathe distant air. melancholy of places never seen before, of lights and colors; I feel them under my skin without ever having lived them. the murmur of the wind among the leaves becomes more intense, it cradles my faded memories.
I feel consumed.
- but who am I? a wrapper. an empty, jagged shell. I do not know. I don't know who I am.
a muffled melody, I barely feel it
and my body becomes stone.
and within that body of stone the pain that was awakens.
and I feel it squeeze my breath, hold it, scratch it, and my chest burns, torn and wants to explode, but it doesn't.
it was, but it is no longer.
I open my eyes, the sky clears up, I feel it calling me.
there is a perfume, when it is no longer night, but it is not yet morning. there is a tangible scent that the wind carries with it and in silence
I
I hear
peace.
and in the stillness of that juncture which is no longer night, but not yet morning, the words of the wind fly free.
the air is crisp, the grass wet, the trees sway and I seem to hear them talking. I seem to see them dance.
the wind is becoming, it is change.
the wind blows, while the sun rises on the horizon, brash, alive, passionate. it blows hard enough to lift my feet off the ground. and while the world still sleeps I fly over thoughts, dreams,
I fly
light
like
a
butterfly
towards the sky.
I become
of wind.
They say that I have changed, that I am no longer the sunny girl, the one who always smiled, who got along well with everyone, who immediately made friends, the carefree one, without problems, without a thousand paranoia, the me of the past. The truth is that she got lost among the disappointments, the times when I wanted to scream but remained silent, the ‘all right’ that never were, but no one noticed. The myself of the past has been lost in the wickedness of life. Among the people who betray you, among the lies, among all those who have abandoned me. Excuse me so much if now I am more evil, more proud and perhaps even a little selfish, sorry if I am not always happy with others but now I am thinking of myself. Excuse me so much if I don’t suit you anymore, but this is just survival instinct.Who knows what people feel when they realize they are alone. When she realizes that the world is not looking for her, that no one thinks of her, when she realizes that she will have to face monsters under the bed alone, when she realizes that people do not understand her, when they understand that the world will not be around her. Who knows what people feel when they understand that sometimes you are better off alone, when they understand that no one will help you in life, when the world does not understand you. Who knows what people feel when they understand that the world does not listen to their silences, does not understand them, does not try to help them. When the world collapses against him, when everything around him seems less colorful. When the world is seen either in black or white, never in another color. Who knows what people feel when they understand that the world uses their frailties to kill them slowly. Who knows what she feels when she realizes that she is surrounded by loneliness. Who knows if he fights it, if he rolls up his sleeves so as not to collapse or if he replaces it with anyone. Who knows if people when they understand that loneliness is overwhelming them struggle. Who knows what people feel when they understand that loneliness is part of their life and they can’t do anything to stop it. Who knows if people with loneliness talk to us, play with us, laugh at us, joke about it or if maybe at the moment they are at home, they have to fight against something bigger than them. Who knows if people make loneliness their best friend, if they learn to live with it, if after a while they don’t want to let it go. Who knows if people fear loneliness, if they are afraid of it, if at the very thought of it they stop breathing. Who knows if one day people will find happiness in solitude. Who knows if one day people will realize that being alone is sometimes a salvation “
The point is, when you’re fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, you can do anything. You can afford to be wrong. The thing is, it’s beautiful and we don’t realize it. It is the age of skipping school and falsifying it justifies it. Sweaters that are too baggy, tea under the covers on Sunday afternoons with friends. Concerts. The scars on his arms. The writings in the school toilets. It is the age of mistakes, the age that does not return, the age of whatever you do you can still fix. It is the age of crying for things that are nothing and seem everything, the age of first loves, the first kisses, the pain of when it ends, the “forever” that will never be. The fact is that it is wonderful and we do not realize it, we put ourselves in a cage for fear of life, without realizing that the real life is right now, the one that will not come back, the one that at thirty we would like to be able to relive. The fact is that we are a damned, burned, gone, passed away generation. The generation of facebook, twitter and tumblr. Conversation stamps, messages that are too long, too many tasks, dilators and tattoos done without thinking. Of “I want to live in London”, “I want to live in New York”. Poems on school desks. The films seen a thousand times. Friendships from a distance. The stations. The trains. The insecurities. Stop eating and start again two days later. And it’s beautiful, we just don’t realize it. I just don’t realize it. It’s time to start breathing, screaming and living. Live to your skin and bones. Live to consume our souls.
The strangest thing of all is that you learn quickly, that you suddenly begin to recognize things, to call them by their real name. When someone you love dies, something comes that grabs your belly and won’t let you go. No heart, no, the heartbeat remains the same, the blood pumps in and out, the chest doesn’t hurt, the famous pang in the heart is just an invention of those who write serial novels in the Thursday weekly. The pain that makes you double over is the pain in your stomach. It is not as strong as that of a fist but it manages to be worse, because it starts from the inside, crawls down the throat, floods your bowels and closes everything. The pain of dead love is as ferocious as suffocating, but I’ll get used to it. There will be many things that I will have to get used to, and there will be just as many that I will have to do without
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 