The last time I remember being sat at this desk with the sole intention of listening to it was a Tuesday evening many years ago. That CD was presented in the total vacuum of its cover and its title. In the same way it ended with me too empty. A zero or one o. .. There is no difference in their downtown? None. As there is no difference between what we really are and the place from which we come and we shall return, it seems. Being in the center of the dirty mud of the sea that s'ha d'attracersare in order to clean. Wrong. Try. Fall. Lost. Hear. Hackneyed words so long subjugated by demagocici concepts seem to have lost their power of decision and concept. Emotion.
emotion.
What a nice word, right? What a wonderful aroma it exudes. Not the warmth and tranquility of the coffee. It is the freshness of clean linen, nor the sweetness of freshly baked bread. It is the smell of leather ones you love. Neither one assured of a new book, or the intense smell of your mother. Is not tied to anything, not even a memory. It has no life, like an intuition. The catches and try to enjoy it like a glass of cold water in the south of the desert. And if we had an awareness of such preciousness in all we are? It 's a crazy world. The madness is so reassuring at times. We are like children who await the day when we sing BuonCompleanno. And blow out the candles lit on a cake of mousse color express wish that we fear more than death became the pretext for not accepting that we are leaves. Fallen leaves and colored leaves, buds and keep yellow wings. As the air time before we take away from here ... I joy in it. I have mystery and tension, I have space and life, I have soul .. walk along this road has no guarantees, nor extended hands to help. There are no security or protection. There is only one step after another and all that from time to time we are wearing, inside as well. I want to scream so loud now that I have this emotion that I feel at peace. And they were centuries, centuries of my life that does not happen. Old Witch of paper ... the broom is worn but the house was still breathing. A minute now has for himself, as it is. You you've got to find a soul? Where everything is lost, someone is.
Feel the wind blowing and do not hide if it makes us move.
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