We have been fire that burns, flames that shine on a summer night when you make love and you don’t swear to stay for eternity, because there is no need. It’s all so far now, and I wonder if we ever existed. But the ashes still give off smoke. I don’t know if in the course of my existence I will think of these moments as just blooming sunflowers or ashes flying accompanied by the wind. I just know that they will remain etched inside me like an incision on the aorta.They pass quickly the run-in spring swallows, beyond the subtlety of the sunset delicate joy: from there the desire for the west is born. I turn around the saving banks of a distant universe: that who no longer listens to my will but he feels all humankind at a distance. I ask by the side of the road, to continue in this stop the company of a hand: that me give the opportunity to make myself heard still happy to intertwine fingers, mark the time between a glance and the reflection of a May afternoon. Between summer storms and hope not to live it alone in the shade of a luxuriant tree, the genuine relieves me of all this essence of reserved living with an eye on the world e a small peephole towards poetry and the beauty of creation.I am sitting outside, the last glow of the sun on my face. it’s cold, but I don’t want to go back inside for a sweater. Seeing goosebumps is comforting, it makes you feel that something can touch me and I am not indifferent to it. today I tidied up, dusted off, wrote an important chapter. I took care of myself calmly, here the time seems to be less and less. there are those who think of me, I don’t know what to think. I smile at a friendship that blossoms despite the ashes left around and I tell myself that it is not true that the conclusions are the end. I can say with confidence now: I’m fine and I don’t hold a grudge. I am so proud of myself that I would hug myself tightly. perhaps it can be a remedy for the cold.The ash on the head. Like any penitent, like any writer, I atone for my sins through writing. I seek redemption hidden in the perfect sentence. I try to sublimate my pain and debase my heart. This is not a world suitable for tall people and I have never felt like a giant. The only regret that of all this writing will remain only ashes. How many emotions do you go and how much paper consumed. Who knows how much more there will be. In the meantime, I am consuming my pen by dipping it in the ink of my soul. Do not make me an example and I am not even a poet. I’m just reporting on my misdeeds.
I’ve seen people leave my life without even apologizing for the inconvenience. Then I saw other people sitting quietly on a bench waiting for me to notice they were there for me. I met people who just met made me think “I could never share time with someone like this” and became the most important people in my life. There were those that I liked at first glance and they then showed me, along the way, that it was just superficiality and mistake. Those people I judged negatively only because they didn’t convince me, or because they didn’t think like me on many and many topics and then, they taught me that, despite the differences, people know how to be beautiful precisely because they are “different” . I met someone who made me say with conviction “I will never forget you again”, but after a couple of years I no longer wondered where they were and how they were, not out of malice, but because sometimes it just happens. And then I met those who traveled only a little way with me and in the end embarked on their path, different and distinct from mine and has remained with me even today. Because life is a way to go. You will meet many faces, some will simply remain so, others will be much more than this.In a moment of time, my life took a break. She relaxed and focused on the world around her. It was all chaotic and peaceful at the same time, like calm water in the open sea and destructively marvelous crashing against the rocks. And that was how I felt that sentimental gash; I felt like a hot wind breaking on my skin, it was the steam that the old train was expelling from the fireplace, while its engine was revving and pawing, it made its way into the walls of my heart. A crust by now settled there was to protect it, a really hard crust, behind which there was hidden a roaring and pounding heart like that train. That crust, under that warm wind of steam, began to weaken, and the vibrations of the engine cracked it. The future refused to answer his questions, however, telling him that he had to focus on the present, do what he felt without looking away.It’s all so fleeting, volatile Speed is relative, pure mental perception Time, the only constant of everything. Therefore learning through attraction complexes is nothing more than a distraction of the space-time perception of the present around. If there is interest in an unknown girl, but present in the present, it is good to express it, against any reaction. Imperturbability is the ability to have firmness of mind. This, combined with the passage of time, puts up resistance to this, however, releasing awareness of actions and consequences. This is to say that if you find a girl you like, don’t mind talking to her. Don’t let time try to unite you, because time will do nothing like that for you, no one.
I often stay staring at the sky while I’m in the car or just when I’m walking around. I look at the sky because from there my mind opens and makes me reach the sea of stars on the expanse of salty, clear water, full of star reflections. It reminds me of winter evenings, when with very few degrees I was short-sleeved on the beach taking pictures. As I looked at the immensity of the sky, I imagined people who, like me, looked at nothing like a dreamer. I imagined people looking at the stars immersed in black to return home or as they looked out on the balcony or the bedroom window with a cigarette between their lips or a steaming cup, and in taking their time to think, they lost themselves looking at the sky with eyes and heart full of anger or sadness, letting oneself be engulfed in the bubble leaving the world outside, and who knows, maybe we are all astronauts but with the fear of leaving the earth and entering the darkness of the universe among the planets and the stars.In my head there is an empty room for you, a glass of wine and a book of poems that I would have liked you to read, a comfortable sofa and a window on the roof to observe the shapes of the clouds, to watch yourself while you are busy looking for the constellations. From time to time I go back to that room, to bring fresh flowers and open that window, to breathe a little. I sit on the sofa with my knees to my chest and read that book, slowly sipping the wine, you know I like to savor things, but then I get up and lock that door, at least three turns, to think about it before opening it. Your place remains and will always remain, but I won’t let you in anymore. I will no longer give you the keys if you fill a seat only to then leave, leave a groove on the sofa and the goblet only half full. In my heart there is a room, certainly small and closed, there is not a window or a book. But there are blank sheets to write on, to fill with complicated ideas, that room is certainly more challenging, everything you write head, the page cannot go blank, you cannot leave without this room undergoing changes, everything will not return in perfect order as before, so I rarely let anyone in. A breath of wind will not take away your perfume, it will not go away, just as your memory will not and maybe neither will you. I got you stuck between these lines and a veil of nostalgia, if you enter the life of a writer it is inevitable to stay on a sheet.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 