FROZEN STAR

Dull star on the tip of an incandescent heartbeat.
Tears of sleep on the edge of your dissolved head.
Liquid glass prisoner of the sins of wax.
Immobile and insane.
Paralyzed by negative outcomes.
Interior.
Memories of homes lived in.
Dusty fingers.
Fingers of disappointed child.
Your kingdom smells like summer jasmine paradise.
Your kingdom is the childhood past.
Postcards and postage stamps detached.
You are the master of lost words.
The pocellana of each of your inner places has the wounds of angels.
The skies are the result of a farewell to the horizons. Interior. Returns.
Crumbled taxes.
Magical soups.
The dead zone of the darkened mind.
Alcoholic dementia.
Forget the years.
The schools.
Mental calculations.
You have filtered out every music of your pain.
Violins sing under your bed.
The removed dust settles again.
The fingertips leave fingerprints.
Loose and redone glasses.
Stained glass windows and unlit prayers.
If you wait for the fire, you become ashes.

MADE BY STARS AND DREAMS

It is literally bad to feel strong and weak to be happy and sad after a few seconds. Dreaming of things that you know that cannot be there and realizing that sooner or later there is an end for everyone, and you can not do anything but accept it. I would like to have no thoughts, have no emotions, be a stone, which with the arrival of the rain everything slips away. But how do you, how can you not think of something bigger than you, you can hide it from your eyes, but after a while it comes back, always there. If the sun hides the wounds, the night brings them back to the surface, and you can do nothing but let yourself be carried away. But what is the meaning of writing, what is the meaning of life, if in the end we are only memories You wonder if it makes sense to spread your own being, or to stay in your own small way, but what life is it if you don’t bring a little of yourself into the world? There is no need to escape, but if everything is rowing against you, where do you find the strength to fight? Let yourself be carried away by life, or take it in hand? It is as if I have understood all the mechanisms, all that remains of life, but then why am I here? Open the windows, let the sun in, listen to the bells ring, listen to the noises, take a breath, don’t think and live in the present
This is what people do not understand about me, I am not satisfied, I dream. Because despite having met false, slimy people, real snakes, I still believe in friendship, the real one, the one that saves you. Because despite having lived through toxic relationships, or not very serene and sometimes almost one-sided, I still believe in love, the one that shakes your heart, that reactivates you, that makes you be born a second time, in that complicit and crazy love. Because despite the falls I still believe in the strength to get up, alone, or holding someone’s hand. Because although the world sucks I still believe in the beauty that is in it, just sit and watch a sunset to find the energy of life. Because although life is hard, I still believe that it is worth living it. And maybe yes, I really dream, but I’m not satisfied either
It hurts me to think that there will be someone else who will wait with the same anxiety with which he was waiting for me. It hurts me to think that his happiness will depend on someone other than me. It hurts to think that that “exaggeration” we always talked about has gradually vanished. To think that there will be another person in your place, to think that he will be able to give her everything you gave her and maybe much more, what she is looking for, what she had always sought in the end, to think that someone will give her that dress that so much she liked it, who knows if she will know the same things she was telling me, maybe she’ll like another dress rather than the white one she fell in love with, and she’ll forget a little bit how that dress, which will come back to her only if she finds the photo she had taken of him scrolling back through the gallery. Yet I know that he will not delete that photo, he will keep it, maybe he will smile when he sees it again and maybe he will keep it a little longer than the other old photos on the screen, after all he wanted it, after all he had dreamed of it in the past. It will hurt when mine is no longer the arm she liked to lean on when she was lying on the bed, it will no longer hurt me the little voice of a child that made her seem smaller and made her so beautiful every time. And it still makes it that way, it’s beautiful yes. There will no longer be a messy bed in my house after coming to see me, there will be no smile that looked at me as if I were her only salvation, and someone else will take my place, take my chair at her kitchen table , she will leave someone else the blue chair in her office where she let no one sit, no one but me, and made me feel important, now she will make someone else feel important. All good things come to an end. But she will be happy, and this is the important thing. And this.
The dream is a defense against the regularity and monotony of life, a recreation of bound fantasy, where it throws all the images of life into the air and interrupts man’s perennial seriousness with a cheerful childish game; without the dream we will age prematurely, and therefore we can consider the dream, if not sent from above, still a pleasant task, a friendly companion on the pilgrimage to the tomb.
Dear ice eyes girl that have nothing celestial,
but however frozen they surpass the ice and they are cold albeit chocolate colored.
Dear sad eyes girl, I wanted to tell you to shine again not to lose yourself in thinking of those who do not think of you not to get lost in order to wait for those who wanted to lose you.
Dear dark eyes girl you will learn to grow to live with fear and make it your strength and your care as well.
You will learn that grownups never cry, but that tears are used to let off steam to regain strength to start over to get up stronger albeit a little stunned.
You will learn to go to fly to fall, and then get up again to turn off only to then return to shine stronger.
Dear hurricane girl that you never stop dreaming that alone you can always do it but you want someone by your side
because together we dance better and together it is better you read a lot and travel too much that music is your world
and books are your place that a beautiful sentence underline it in red with pencil a straight line unlike your life
which is always an infinite curve and also uphill that you change your mood easily according to the steps of your Love based on a smile of hers and his smile that puts a smile on your face.
that you have big eyes and the gorgeous smile that you want to hear your heart beating fast because you want to live strong because you want to live for real.
Dear girl woman, I wanted to tell you to start shining again, because you are not the disappointment of this world but the disappointment is this world which has lost its values which is a meaningless world where now only what is not needed counts – superficiality, of course.
I wanted to tell you to shine again like a shining star to shine alone without needing someone to turn you on, because the real music of this world it’s you, just you and that’s it.
Don’t be discouraged, do not stop do not change do not stop dreaming: go, run, shine take everything you deserve and shine, you always shine,
because they will teach you not to shine they will discourage you because they are envious they will extinguish you
because they are jealous of your light, but you don’t listen to them.
You shine.

VISIONARY SUNSETS

But what if instead of photographing the sunsets, we tried to write them? He is one of those who, crumpling the day, it seems to carry with it the promise of an evening at least as beautiful and if it disappoints you, you get angry like a panther. One of those sunsets that promises to take with you flocks of stars and rain like that perfect evening ten years ago in a remote mountain village me, him and no one else with a love just popped up to skate on an ice that is hotter than that there you go water skiing. But I tell you that for me tonight that one does not lie. I sign him a surety on the fly. Because on the promise of this up front a good one will write about sixty magnificent verses but someone like me he just wants you to sit next to him hug you one by one and tell you: I’m not writing anything to you tonight but if you want something beautiful we show you him and me, because if you promised it such an evening it means that a little we deserve it, and maybe Just for today she deserves us too.
And I don’t know if it’s going to be the two of us. I don’t know if we will watch all the most beautiful sunsets at the sea together. I don’t know if we’ll envy the world or won’t envy anyone. But I know that those black eyes of yours, those fucking black eyes are the most powerful calamity of all.
I am breathing the colors of this wonderful sunset: warm tones, poetry, suggestion, thoughts. In this place the sun can only hide in this way and the reddish shades seem to come alive waiting for the sky to shine with stars. There are 7 billion people in the world right now. someone is running away scared. someone is coming home. someone tells lies to get through the day. someone else is facing the truth. 7 billion people in the world. 7 billion souls. and sometimes all you need is just one.
Watching the sunsets calms me down a lot.
It makes me feel at peace with myself, and calms my thoughts.
We see sunsets every day, yet they are always all different and uniquely magnificent.
I want to live like a sunset: to change constantly, always remaining the same and surprising everyone.
She saw scurrying around as a child with mum when clinging to her hand we walked around and I filled her head with a thousand questions. He saw me as a little girl sitting thinking with headphones and music overhanging every thought. He saw me on summer nights and admiring every sunset as if it never ended. He saw me change every day step by step, kilo by kilo. It gave me beauty when I needed it. For me just for me.
You have changed so much, and maybe that’s right.
but you changed for the wrong reasons, for the wrong people.
the disappointments they always had this effect on you, they change you inside, and maybe you have become the right person thanks to a person terribly wrong.
How many have we been through How many have we been through in this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone. this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone.

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