There are nights that bear the livid countenance of solitude, of difficult choices made beneath the yellow glare of a desolate hotel room, while the blood runs and the war sets fire to the cities and the most secret corner of the heart.
This is the hour of silence, the one that precedes the nocturnal fire.
Before the heart opens in sleep to regrets, longings, and hidden fears, the day quietly departs amidst soft lights and distant sounds.
And everything feels like lost words and hours that will never return.
Take me somewhere else, to that night when I believed love was truly possible. Carve your name deeply on my palm and split my heart in two to place yours inside, so that I may cherish it forever.
You walk until you get lost in the desert of consequences, amidst regrets and missed opportunities.
And right there, on the border before nightfall, in that mottled blue that fills the longest hour, the first flashes of war ignite the heart.
It won't take millions of years, but just a few decades, for everything to be erased. Words spoken or unspoken, sleepless nights, sweet kisses, and small hands held tightly on the way to school. And yet, the heart beats, showing unwavering love.
I envision you in thirty years, as beautiful and as fierce as your mother, striding through a world far seven universes away. I bid you farewell from the edge of these forgotten days, in the future that belongs to you.
I'll be there, hidden in your secret words and the sweetest dreams of April.
Your face embodies the austere beauty of an October day, as it bids farewell to the triumph of the low-hanging sun. Its secret code is rooted in the physics of autumn, where gusts of wind, sudden clouds, and gentle showers herald the fragile texture of the impending frost.
Not the tracers that cut through the darkness, not the helicopters' roar that shakes your insides, not the trembling hands before the attack, not the cities in flames, not the dry throat, not the tears or long silences.
I'll tell you about the war, but only what it means to return.
Seven million kilometers from here, following the path that starts from the third purple tulip down in the garden and runs straight to Proxima Centauri, suspended in deep space, lies that little light that you never wanted to show me and that I was unable to find.
And it's precisely on the threshold of night, in the silence of the dark room, suspended between what has been and what will be, uncertain and fragile, sometimes tired and wounded, that we precisely divide what is worth living and dying for and what is best to let go.
In my pockets, my hands are frozen from the cold, my face is weathered by the salty northern wind, my eyes see the gray sea of a chilly April day, and my heart awaits the long day when destiny will be fulfilled.
Yours is a primordial vibration,
A deep telluric wave
Of those that rise from dark abysses,
An infrasound that shakes the bowels
And shatters bones and cells
With the blind force of an ancient beast.
Everything fades away in beauty, in the remaining moments of this useless day.
In the frail flesh, like a deep furrow in the scorched earth, you dwell.
Perché mi gira così 🙂
Ever since you suddenly reappeared, like a door slamming unexpectedly, you have spread through my body like a deep wave. The kind of deep, primordial waves that open cracks in the earth and shatter entire cities.
I'm not here for justice, but for revenge. I don't need to be right, I just need to win.
Some days are made of wind, sea, stone, and fire that never goes out, no matter what.
The world is filled with roads we'll never travel together, and the clocks are about to tick away the hours we'll spend apart. And the unspoken words, the ones that could have made a difference, are lost along a thin line of probability, as silent and mute as fragile quanta.
Memory has seven fingers, as long and strong as the bones of an ancient animal. It grips your heart, suffocating its beats, which eventually echo like slow footsteps along the golden road that divides the sea and sky.
Livid dawns, tense winds and long silences are consequences of love.
There are days when the light paints the world with the clean stroke of a strict teacher.
Despite the gloomy January day, the light finally broke through.
There are silent absences that are unrecognized proofs of love.
I am traversed by the subtle line of a single ray of light.
Some things are as unyielding as the unforgiving grasp of death itself. No matter how hard you try, with all your heart, mind, and soul, you can't change them. They unfold in a dance of mystery, bound by laws that defy our grasp. And this is a inevitable part of our fragile lives.
I'm slowly giving away my daughter's toys. Now, they're just worthless trinkets. Marbles, dolls, a horse that moves its legs - but it wasn't always like this. Once upon a time, they were animated, had little voices, and embarked on wondrous adventures. That era has come to an end.
That's how it is.
Lo stabilizzatore 😀
We follow the path that life leads us on. One step at a time, with a steadfast heart and true to ourselves.
We were born to cross borders.
Beauty emanates from you naturally, with the spontaneous grace of an inevitable consequence.
