The grass, the silence,
the moving of the shadow.
Alone, in your morning cry,
the grass, the silence, the moving of the shadow
and the stalks of the wind. Your relief
is to see you calm while waiting
that I come from afar, your rest
is the hope of meeting in the evening
by chance in a winter.
Leave you to disappear,
to be your sky where you look
without remorse, have your regret,
your memory, your empty hands ...
Maybe it's sweeter to cry than to have me.
You are fine alone, but alone you suffer a lot. You would never admit it, but it shows in how nice you are to anyone, even to those who don’t deserve it at all. You want people to love you, and however much you walk with the air of someone who doesn’t need anyone, you constantly need someone. Boundless fears and tiny feet that don’t allow you to escape far enough. You don’t know how to go far away, then you miss the air and you don’t know what to do, you like Italy, but it’s not Italy that you like, it’s those ten or eleven people in all, without whom you would not know how to go on, because it takes you years to become attached to someone, but then it’s forever. Or in short, almost. Like all beautiful things. You make me smile when you say you don’t believe in infinite loves and then I find you moved in front of a cartoon that should have made you laugh. You never cry because you are disappointed, when you are disappointed you scream. When you cry it’s because you hope, hope and don’t want to admit it. Hoping hurts you, somehow. You think it’s not like you, so you cry watching comedy movies and justify yourself by saying you don’t really know why, “it’s been happening to me since I was little.” And how are you now? Do you feel great? You like the night and you like songs that are no longer used and idioms that are no longer used. Everything about you is sincere, even the way you dress and say the words. Even the way you breathe. You don’t control yourself, you can’t and you think it’s bad, instead it’s wonderful, you are a wild flower, one of those flowers that cannot be picked but only looked at. You perfume a lot, if you were a memory you would be the smell of freshly washed sheets, if you were me you would love yourself as birds love to fly, with a necessary love. If you were me you would love yourself so as not to die. I am here looking at you, you look like a poem that no one will ever dedicate to me, one of those poems that when you read them you think it would be wonderful if someone saw you that way and loved you so much, instead nothing, but no less beautiful , not for this, ever.
I know that I often play the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little. I grew up in a family where music is worth a lot: pop, rock, rap, instrumental, house, alternative, blues and so on. In my house there has always been a sweet background music of some artist, who craved art, and we have always appreciated it. I had (like everyone) my preferences. The object in the photo is mine. An old cassette tape. My father spent hours recording various kinds of songs, mixtapes for my mother. Perfection I believe. So I know that I often do the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little, but when I do some mixtapes for someone too, I will do it with artists who crave art.The importance you give to a song is solely derived from the person who makes you think of it while you listen to it. I’ve heard so many songs, it’s a life that I listen to songs, every day, every hour. I love that it always remains my favorite song. Among the millions of songs I have listened to, it is always her, she who is capable of making you take a sigh and say goodbye to what you were, what you are and what you will be, remaining unique, for those three minutes. Thank you so much for letting me have a favorite song!Do you say we would be happy? Together I mean … I have my music, you have your passions. I’m not ready to risk everything, anything that makes me say “this is what I am” to another person. So I understood, the perfect fusion between the happiness I feel with you and why I am in the world became my creed, my mission for years! All this to say that “this is what I am: happy” puzzles don’t stick to one piece. The beauty of the game is to complete the work!What sound do you prefer songs from the past that you would like to listen to again?
In the end, if we think about it, we won't write because we don't have the courage to write. Writing is the day of silence. We write to let off steam, to bring out our feelings and turn them into a lighter. But ultimately, whatever character is beautiful, most of the world will impress on a bird or screen. And they are there. Real estate. Nothing will happen next to us.
I need to find him, what courage. Take the initiative and read "Loud those words". The human body is an almost perfect machine, we created it with a lace, with the ability to speak and dialogue, it was very powerful. We should brace ourselves and shout. Speak and write that it is now within us, the one that divides, piece by piece.
More than anything else, 2020 has taught us to let go, which is never giving up. It is rather not to push, not to strategize, not to force. It is not resisting things happening. It is not brooding. It is having courage to the end, stopping to direct but letting oneself be carried. It is trust, breath, love and lots and lots of courage. It’s watching life shatter and doing nothing. It is having absolute certainty that it is that reassembly that will give us a new shape, finally ours, the one we ignored, the only one that really belonged to us. Let yourself be shattered and believe in miracles. Abandon yourself and create them. Thanks for this year together.You are made to be loved. With your sweet and smart eyes. With your ways of doing you send on the ball. Inspire sweetness, tenderness. Anyone would try this for you. You laugh. Talk and laugh. You like to joke with people. When you speak, you lower your head, look I don’t know where, then you raise it up and laugh. You are small, small but strong. You are able to save yourself and anyone else. You never tell about yourself. But if you told something, you would say that you tried to save someone you cared so much about, but they didn’t let themselves be saved, did they? If you told it, you would say that you have destroyed yourself for someone who lived on something else, and not on you. But how do you live, if not you? If you tell, you will tell that you have lost. And that’s why you look down every now and then while you’re talking. But even though you were small, you were strong. You took your life, you started to appreciate it, you took courage on your own and you came to the surface. You’re not dead, baby, no. And that’s why when you look down you look up and laugh. Because you made it against the whole world. Because when a person loses, he is in a struggle with himself and with others. And these kinds of battles are never easy. But keep it up, baby. Continue to enchant the eyes of others. Maybe God sent you for this. To bring some happiness. Because when it comes to you, spinning around, and then laughing, and then pulling your hair back, and then squirming, there’s always a smile ready to come out. There is no other alternative.It has a strange effect, I don’t know if you understand. I mean, that looking into each other’s eyes so intensely, but for so little. A complex and enigmatic language, sometimes subtle. It can mean all or nothing. It is free, broad. We can give ourselves the taste of our interpretation or we can simply read what these two eyes can emanate. But no, I don’t do any of that. I don’t read, I don’t interpret. I live again. Images, feelings, scenarios and moments that transport me into the vortex of memory. A powerful vortex, which wonders what magical power gazes can have. It is a matter of seconds, really. But full of us.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 