Every grief is concealed under a light and candid desert; a blurred skyline drops and everything is possible again. A white leaf sets free to imagine new worlds and lives; or, without any addition, to smile under a frozen and soft quilt that will ease down on each and every spirit motion with its fresh and pointed scent. On the surface of the lake a myriad mirrors drift orderly in a row; it may even look like they survived alone to stillness. Except, down and closer, white masses as well start drawing self-propelled waves that seem to grasp the wind as lightly as waters do.
Sounds, feelings and thoughts and the ache of your absence in a clearer sky
I’m walking half-naked from one room to another, looking for that black, short, consumed underwear shirt I just use at home. My warm skin cuts the air as a burning sword and a bad, cold but still sweet feeling of rain- and autumn-flavored illness completely starts possessing me. It reminds me of when I was at home in bed during school days, warm but looking at the fresh weather and wind outside, cared about by my mother; that time where there were mostly very rich feelings, not very precise thoughts. I think I’ve got a slight cold and a slighter fever. That’s curious. Smells and tastes from my past seem …
Things I can give you: a smile, the gardens I love and wide open arms