I feel like everything is empty. Nothing around. I gasp in the deep dark. Just one light. Just a thrill in the air, your eyes looking at my soul.
I have nothing, but I have You, therefore I have everything.
All around vibrates in the ether only one thing, you. Like constant beating of wings that your heart remembers.
A vibration. A thrill. Contact with silky skin. An emotion that revives.
Mild. Intense. Fiery. Passionate.
A kiss resting on smooth skin. Eyes that like windows open onto an enchanted world. A world that is your soul....
Wake up, open your eyes into each other. A hug of looks. A smile and the morning opens...
Here is a new day. Here I anxiously await, to still see myself in your eyes.
I need to hold you tight. Dip your face into your hair. Feel your perfume, inhale you inside me.
A heart drowning in murky waters of sadness. He gasps desperately for the air of your smile.
Narrow is the heart. Dark soul. Then here it is your smile and the morning lights up.
A light breeze carries your perfume so that my nostrils can fill with it. Breeze that is like your caress.
The face of the sky is now day, greet those who have a place already reserved in their hearts.
A place imprinted in the heart, dug into the soul.
A few things were enough for me, it's true I always had my head full of thoughts and unless I wanted it personally it was impossible to take them off, but immersed in that immense stillness not even I could do anything about it, the night was dark and you could not even see the stars, then maybe i could say it was cloudy. There were two rusty lampposts that in front of me opaquely illuminated the road, they were the only source of light not to mention the few cars that sometimes passed.
It was all so calm, no noise outside of me. In my ears I listened to music with earphones and it calmed my soul. But more important was my cat looking around as if everything she looked at was a wonderful new discovery. Every now and then he would come up to me and give me two licks, while others tried to sleep. But always close to me.
In short, the fact is that in that small balcony, in the most absolute quiet, it was me and my cat, who was called Morgana; and I can say with certainty that no one else had ever been able to speak to me with such magnificence. I finally felt at peace with myself.
The black sheep of a family are actually liberators of their family tree. Family members who do not fit into family rules or traditions, those who are constantly trying to revolutionize beliefs. Those who choose paths contrary to the well-trodden paths of family lines, those who are criticized, judged and even rejected. These are called to free the family from repetitive patterns that frustrate entire generations. These so-called “black sheep,” the ones that don’t fit, the ones that howl with rebellion, actually repair, detoxify and create new flowering branches in their family tree. Countless unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams, or frustrated talents of our ancestors are manifested through this revolt. By inertia, the family tree will do everything to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which will make the rebel’s task difficult and confrontational. Stop doubting and take care of your rarity “as the most precious flower on your tree”. You are the dream of all your ancestors.The sheep are in the enclosure convinced that the good shepherd built it to defend them from wolves. The sheep do not know, however, that the fences do not stop the wolves, but only serve to prevent them from escaping from the shepherd, who will take them to the slaughterhouse and if a wolf eats one, the shepherd will tell the others that it was the victim’s fault. she should have been more careful. The problem is, they can’t understand if you tell them, because they’re sheep. Sheep are a little miracle of nature. Pay attention to it. They only eat grass and feed billions of people with their milk and resulting cheese. Not to mention the wool with which we warm up. It is therefore unfair to equate them with those ignorant masses of humans who are of no help to the community.There are three types of people in this world: sheep, wolves, and shepherd dogs. There are people who believe that evil does not exist in the world, and if it ever appeared at their door they would not know how to defend themselves, those are the sheep. Then there are the predators, who use violence to overpower the weak, those are the wolves. And then there are those to whom god has given the ability to attack and the irrepressible need to defend the flock, these individuals are a rare species, born to face wolves, they are shepherd dogs. I am no longer the sociable type, I have an unpleasant character, I am aware and aware of it, but I have no remorse or qualms. I hate this flock of sheep, the evil of this nation and this new generation who does not want to make the revolution, he doesn’t give a damn about the informationI wonder if I still have a body. I watch the sheep cross the road, one after the other, without caring about the arrival of my car. I am in a rural area, but not too isolated to justify this unusual encounter. On the sides of my path, I see rectangular wheat fields flowing, now disfigured by the past harvest. Regular handkerchiefs of dark earth, full of cut-off and shiny ears for the frost of an autumn by now neglected. They block my passage, these funny little beasts with a curly coat. They look like many white clouds, with a slightly darker rubber nose, which wander undisturbed and certain of their advance in a group. And I stop to observe them, I let them walk calmly, envying them that sense of unity and security, which we humans seem to be unable to find among us.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 