Sea of ​​thoughts made of sad realities.
Let's dance until we no longer hear the thoughts but only the sound of our hearts beating in unison, let's leave the sad real world to others and enjoy ours, the two of us together. So that nobody disturbs us we run away, dancing an infinite dance, made of freedom and joy, we run away from that sea of ​​reality that cries us to come back, that dreams end and that they are not real, but I do not listen to it and continue to dance , with you. Our endless dance that cries for the freedom to never go away.


Watery and unable to want to be anything. As if joy could never belong to us but only escape us. Loving each other only because we should have loved each other before loving each other. Moving awkwardly because awkwardness is our only beauty. Feeling special as if we were living in a Style Council song. Fading miserably. Failing pale. We are not passionate, we are conventional. We don’t want a good reason, we just want to need it. But we will start again, pretending to be changed. But knowing they are still the same. To lie in the same way again. And we’ll be really good, real artists, and we’ll never think we’re useless. And we will want to produce many many wonders for those who want so much to be amazed by them. And we will say we are happy, and we will finally say it crying. Finally collapsing.


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.


My grandfather had strong, curious and courageous hands. It died slowly between a sigh of dawn and a triumph of sunset. He was the best playmate of my childhood, no matter how “crazy” my requests were: he didn’t judge, he didn’t warn, he was there. And now it’s gone. I will miss the loud laughter that gives me a stomach ache, the stinging comments on life, the spontaneous jokes. I miss not being able to steal the candy from my grandmother’s secret shelves, to laugh in silence when she – inevitably – discovered us. I will miss holding your hand as when, as a child, you were my coachman walking fast through the city paths. I don’t know where you are, what you do, if you can still hear me. I don’t know if you feel sad or happy up there among friends and relatives who have been saying goodbye to us for some time. If you can read my heart, keep pushing me, to believe in me, don’t let me run alone. You taught me that being kind is an act of courage and that taking care of someone is a gesture that must be done in silence. I’m sorry not to be able to answer the questions you will ask when one day a man comes into my life to stay: who is he? whose son is he? does he respect you? I would have liked to give you this joy, I would have liked to see you curious and indiscreet and I would have liked to laugh at your simple toasts made of coffee, biscuits and knowing looks hidden behind your dark glasses. There were so many things that I still wanted to know from you, there were so many things that I would have liked to share together in the simple way we had of speaking without making noise. I will forever miss the woman I would have become if you had stayed just one more day next to me. I was ready to say goodbye but I wasn’t at all. Rest and keep me.


Unfortunately, the thing that unites all of us dreamers is the fact that we always wait for something to happen without ever doing anything to make it happen. We are always there, thinking, “I just have to wait. Sooner or later I will be happy. Sooner or later there will come that thing that will change my life, that will upset it. ” Yes, I said well, I used the word “upset” because, let’s face it, we all expect something to arrive that upsets the monotony of our life. Everyone, including me. And because of that, I’m missing out on the best years of my life. They insulted me, they tried to kill me inside, they used me, they pretended to love me, they beat me and trample me. Wasted effort, I’m still standing.
I’m the right brain.
I am creativity.
A free spirit.
I am passion.
I am the roaring sound of those who laugh.
I am the taste.
The feeling of sand under your bare foot.
I am movement.
Bright colours.
I am the urge to paint on the naked canvas.
I am limitless imagination.
I guess.
I hear.
I am everything I wanted to be.
The truest part of me is in the impulses I control,
in the emotions I hold back, in the thoughts I hide,
in the things I don’t say.
They are not for everyone, they are for those who can look inside me.
I am the cry of the blood in the glass of the sea,
I am a fever of the air, of the flower,
I am a leaf, a great funnel for the black nectar. I am welcome to new havens.
I am a flame,
seeking its drop of water,
it sinks,
but remains liquid inside the earth.
they are a mixture of various parallel directions,
different trains, tears mixed with private joys,
I’m the green grass,
fox and bird,
I dare to challenge every hunt,
I am inside the battles of the heart,
no way out,
no trembling,
no hesitation.

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