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I could ... The Neverending Story

Between the pages of a book I'm not afraid. Lying on the bed in my room, while the darkness wraps around the rest of the house, I wrap it in soft caress paper lulled by the rhythm of writing. There is nothing outside of history. No other matters that are included in the writer's imagination. And I myself became a tree, a dead branch, an abandoned car at the bottom of the landscapes and the pen imprinted on white sheets. And I could read forever. Forget to live. Why not a book betrays and responds perfectly to all my desires drawing the exact profile of the world that I want. Of life that I want.

I grew up having a friend to the little prince of a fairy tale, in my solitude as a child. And I still can not believe in any reality is not included in the books I've read. Why do you call the real world scares me. And I do not ppartengo away. No point in my efforts to believe otherwise.

And I know that I have no life except in the middle of a story. E Ink and cellular respiration. And I eat cardboard and twine binding. I move in a world of words, immersed in the writing as a charity in the primordial soup that surrounds me. How wrapped in a warm womb. Why I am a book. And I shed a thousand tears, I lived a thousand lives, I have seen thousand loves.

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Turn around,

look at what you see.

In her face,

the mirror of your dreams.

Make believe I'm everywhere,

living in your eyes.

Written on the pages

is the answer to a never ending story.

Reach the stars,

fly a fantasy.

Dream a dream,

and what you see will be.

Lives that keep their secrets

will unfold behind the clouds

There upon the rainbow

is thea nswer to a never ending story.

Show your fear

for she may fade away.

In your hands the birth of a new day.

Lives that keep their secrets

will unfold behind the clouds

There upon the rainbow

is the answer to a never ending story.

Never ending story.

Never ending story.

Never ending story.

Never ending story.

Never ending...Never ending...

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The other ...

The other sometimes come into my bed. He does it at night, while my mind is miles away, and starts talking to me. He does it gently slipping beyond defense and penetrate like a bullet unforgiving. The other is waiting for me in the shade of alleys, dark streets, empty at the bottom of the garage. Whisper and I can not resist. I opened my soul and I surrender to its force. The other is cruel and free. The other hunts me. For every weakness is strengthened to overcome me. And I have no escape.

The other standing by walking, as follows. Or precede the road, impeding. It surrounds me and confuses me, and I hide. For everyone else I'm the other, the other unarmed. Why the world where the other begins, I end up.

The other is around long my day, ravenous beast. And at every turn our gaze to sneaks into my soul. The other says that words with the sound of my voice. The other arguing and yells and talks too fast. The other charms sure what you're doing. The other that if you're not careful can make you sick.

The other is watching, lurking in remote corners of my eyes. And I breathe with my lungs. It touches you and loves you as you glide over your body without shame. The other, a bitch, without shame and without hesitation. The other will dazzle, thrill hot without limits. The other kisses on my lips upon your lips. The other is bare, stripped me, and drink from your mouth. The other tricks you, absorbs you, you want and you take decided. And you do not know that you and dell'alltra I'm jealous.

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damn beautiful ...

...

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Step ...

I saw in the brief moment when his picture popped beyond the window. The sure-footed of those who impractical to dominate the time spent neither too slow nor too fast excite the thick carpet of dry leaves on the sidewalk. His feet follow one another just lingering pace and giving the body long and thin. The heavy coat of cloth swayed with every movement along all of its laws. And his arms, relaxed but not abandoned, accompanied discrete harmony of quell'andatura perfect.

Dressed in black, instilled a certain fear from those strong shoulders and straight. Of which did not seem to notice, too lost in thought. Only clashed with his image, his head full of curls and a disheveled young face but thin and gray.

I had no way to see his eyes, which his hair fell on his face suggesting barely edged profile. But I was sure they were dark and liquid as those of a lost animal. It was about the moment of its passage over that glass. But his reflection in the transparent material was stamped as the trail of a comet. And his life was immediately clear to me

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Night Landscape ...

wrote words of

glass doors on the night

shining moon

Raindrops like tears

between clouds step

On the road the darkness fell like a shroud broken

and suddenly I did not see anything

distant shadows

restless ghosts

slid down from my eyes

as time ended.

Besides the reflections of stars

a helping hand

showed me the path.

black guardian angel

of my nightmares

confused.

was only a fragment of my soul

and nothing else.

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other side of the world ...

Across the world there is a green dream of crossing. On the other the world there is a flower that dream to catch. Across the world there who dream of petting a puppy. Across the world there is a lifetime dream of living.

Across the world there is a dream to listen to music, and there's a cold wind in winter where I want to be soothed. Across the world there is a path that I want to go to the end, on the other side of the world is a rainbow that is lost in the hills.

Across the world there is a dress that dream to wear the other side of the world there is a dance that I dance. Across the world there is everything I would like to see what the other side of the world there is a chair on which I would like to sit.

other side of the world's chocolate tastes better on the other side of the world is better love. And there I would like to swing on a swing and there are nights when I sing.

Halfway around the world breathe my heart and my soul has time to be alive.

Across the world we can clearly see my eyes, across the world have no chains to my wrists.

Across the world there is a place where I get to stop in sun and to hear. Across the world I have friends who want to embrace the other side of the world are waiting for me to celebrate. Across the world there is light and silence and madness. In that part of the world is my home.

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Absence ...

The summer goes away without his usual signs. Visible and invisible. A little 'color on my fair skin, smell the sea air. And I can not explain an absence.

The days of September are melancholic sighs that accompany me to winter in which, as always, I will find the warmth of an embrace in the twilight of a cold afternoon.

But the fall kills me how all things unclear. With its soft edges, its colors are imperfect and uncertain, his moods ambiguous. Autumn scares me. It leaves me apathetic and suspended, pending the cold wind of December begins to caress her face ...

And I'm still hoping that the move is short. And not having to dwell too long on my eyes dry leaves and humiliated by passers distracted, the trees bare, swollen and bruised on the sky ... jarring notes of a requiem to the past splendor.

October is coming, knocking on the door of my heart. I'll let him go, pretending not to notice his arrogance, as a love wrong. I will wait patient who rubbed my soul and the dye of ocher and brown. If you go away with its trail of black rain and mud, without turning. Leaving me alone to dry the tears that will be cold snow. Finally.

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Once upon a time ...

It Was a long, long time in August She Stood in the middle of the room, looking confused the image sowly That Was moving in front of her eyes. Outside the window, the cloudy night Was coloring the world with gloomy ITS shadings.

She stared at the mirror. The strange figures on the liquid surface Suddenly stopped. Its blue, fixed her eyes with unhuman a familiar expression. She was astonished and frightened by that vivid look trying to penetrate her eyes.

She made some steps away from the confused vision and she sat on the old woodden chair.

The evanescent body on the mirror made the same.

She spent some seconds lost in her darker thoughts. She was sure that image could not be her own projection. It was so bright and powerful while she was so desperate and faded.

Perhaps it was the result of the memory of her past life, of her past happiness. Perhaps it was her future.

Warm tears began falling by her eyes washing away the shadows on her face.

Alone in that cold, empty room she had met a different self. The person she had always dreamed to be was sitting in front of her. The fate had given her a rare opportunity. She was in the core of a miracle, not wanting to be there. She was afraid. And her heart was frozen.

She stood up trying to fight her coward insitincts.

Step by step she reached the mirror stretching her trembling hand to the figure.

Suddenly the whole scene disappeared. No room, no mirror, nothing more.

The rain was falling down loudly outside.

She woke up, opening her eyes in the deep darkness. The dream of That Mysterious night HAD shaken her soul.

She Looked around, confused and lonely. And she cried.

Far away, in the night, Was someone crying as well.

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Heart artist who can not love ... that you can not love unless another loving heart of art. Vibrating strings, a brush or a clean sheet.
Heart Artist burning between words, colors and notes. Heart black and blind. Heart living. Heart crying.
Heart fighting in the world ... that the world loses. What then flees from the world. Heart
a silent night, every day the heart, heart blood and tears. And tears and blood. And a dream.
Heart artist who trembles and sees where the world ends. Heart feels things. Heart that creates it.
Heart artist. One heart. Only art. Only.

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Call my name tonight ...

Call my name and save me from the dark ... Black Soul. Damned Soul. Say my name and save me from the darkness. I am this and nothing else. And I do not know if I'll ever enough.

How can you see into my eyes like open doors? I look into your eyes and burns. I cry, but after the tears are not always so loving. Sometimes they know the sea. At other times of love.

Wake me up inside, wake me up inside ... please wake me. Life is a nightmare living with me. My heart is a bastard race and not let me go. As a vortex with no way out. The dark forward and I do not know what to do.

Save Me From The Nothing I've Become ... wake me up and save me. Why in the bottom of my eyes sometimes there is nothing. Too often there is nothing. And I'm afraid.

My spirit is sleeping somewhere cold ... Frozen inside without your touch without your love ... it's cold in this soul. Cool if you're away. Cold as the cold of winter all wrapped in a bit of life. Hug me and love me. Hug and save me. Wake addormentami and then your arms. Last night, forever.

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sclero ...

Paola My friend told me: "You are legendary, when you cycle six irrecoverable." I told her thanks, but not on mine. E 'Giacomone the hormone that comes out once a month to take a bocata air and upsets a bit' all the situation, which in itself is already precarious.

say that yesterday I could tear with the sheer force of his jaws the whole human race. No, the thing before it gets there, just a little person are not recommended.

Today the tummy held at bay Cerberus in me and let free to express my hormone crazed friend. So someone can also be more sympathetic than usual.
In reality it's just that they are particularly hysterical and mood swings are starting to worry.

In the future I might be able to exterminate an entire population and the next day hold dearly an entire episode of Zelig.
But fortunately we're not even at these levels.

The current level is very, moooooolto less dangerous.

When I'm calm waters on the couch in the kitchen with his hand in the stomach and the active ingredients of Voltfast that slowly make their way into my body. In a desperate attempt to find something that is capce to relieve the pain, I swallowed a white powder ambiguous flavor of licorice disgusting rancid. A ritual that is repeated every time and that sooner or later cease to produce the desired effect.

television fills me ill-concealed murderous instincts. In particular the frame that shows that Pope Ratzinger says serious "being a priest is incompatible with sexual abuse." THANKS TO FUCK, you've been waiting for! The feeling of impatience that causes me the man with the white prada Shoemaker is second to even boring for the news of the birth of twins to Angelina Jolie Never mind.

But anyhow. This passes the monastery.

The heat is almost unbearable and her hair freshly washed and still wet can just give me a momentary relief. Taking shape soon will dry, you know, unspeakable ...

cats languishing somewhere in positions displaced. Thank god for not looking at me with more or less thick fur.

dream Meanwhile the North Pole, penguins, Findus and Captain of the Titanic iceberg. We say that the collection is a little macabre but the sensation of coolness that comes is comforting.

The town dozing in the hour of siesta. Nothing moves, everything is silent.

I do not sleep because of the birth is "the woman without sleep." Expect the medicine to take its effect to make me vaguely make use of it. Meanwhile I sit on the couch, inept and useless ... If you do not pass I'll throw in the garbage. Or at least there is water in the water.

I want a strawberry slush, in a bar, in a park with swimming pool. Maybe go for a walk in the gardens of the Reggia di Caserta, but now that there is not too hot.

do not know. I want the sea and a bonfire and friends with the guitar. And sing silly songs and sleeping on towels in the sand that gets into your costume and scratches.

"Wind in the summer, I go to the sea and you doing? Do not wait for me, I might lose ..."

AMEN!

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I go ...

"I go in the direction in which the world has stopped going, where one takes the hand and yet you still dare to dream ..."

I do not know exactly where they are now. I'd like to know but is a bit 'I've lost track of my time-space coordinates. Ultimately it does not bother me too much, wanting to be honest. But all in all I think about my position might be useful for me to arrange a little 'things.

Ad However I continue to move forward. Because life has taught me that you will never go back ever. You will never go back ever, but you can stop ... how long you want to look forward. And, to think of it, and now I'm still scanning the horizon to understand a bit 'more of this trip. And to conquer fear.

Not that before I ever stop to think. But this time I feel that things are getting a bit more complicated, requiring greater attention. So I found a smooth stone on the road and I are sitting on, as if waiting. And now, with his elbows on his knees, I look around confused and intent on making a decision.

dancing around me so many question marks, but none of them invites me to dance. Which is a bit 'irritates me. It will be because of the fact that at this point of the journey I must have looked pretty scary. How to blame him? The weight of the thoughts that wander around my head is sfiacchendo and I have not even really want to look in the mirror. The consequences are easily imaginable.

There is not even a breath of wind, the sun, the stone on which sat it is getting hot. Urge a choice and understand where to go. But the "my place" does not see even a tiny clue in the distance. I need time to think. Time to read in and find the direction. And someone, rather than someone who makes me company along the journey.

Why, after all, still I fear ...

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of a summer night ...



waving like a hanged man in the hot wind this summer.
eyes closed and breath hub agony.
life implodes in me and I do not know what to do now.
Under the moon are still paler.
I stopped worrying tonight.
rags on me that I'm not ashamed.
death already I'm not afraid anymore.
And time is passing slower.
drops of sweat on my forehead.
Tears in the sticky heat.
fool ... what is the point of crying?
My rope is a jewel quite ridiculous.
Happiness is a grotesque grimace on my face.
me, I am helpless as a puppet.
I puppeteer merciless with myself.
This time I pulled the wire too.

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Rans ... and me!

tonight are a bit 'sad and also very tired and nervous for this exam session that seems to never end and that is so difficult to reconcile with the full-time job. To distract a bit '- and then that hot weather! - I started to wander a bit' for the network. I found something that made me smile a lot, the video of the abbreviation of "Rans witch," the cartoon that I liked most as a child and whose character seems too much to me ... So I dedicate to you and me!

RANS *** WITCH ***

nice and cute, it's a doll, [oh, Rans-king! ]

around you would not think that has a vampire father, [oh, Rans-king! ]

the eye is always sharp as a mother wolf, [oh, Rans-king! ]

even if she is honest, sometimes scary because ...

Rans is a very beautiful and lovely witch you know,

but if he gets angry then I am trouble,

he can use all spells,

to make a thousand and one follies

Rans is a witch always sweet and caring you know,

but if rages are then trouble

although now she is in love,

she does not forget the goal, because ...

Rans is a witch!

Sometimes it is very curious,

but never presumptuous, [oh, Rans-king! ]

if by chance you are wrong then I apologize, [oh, Rans-king! ]

knows how to be gallant, always funny, [oh, Rans-king! ]

but if you are insulting, like a large firecracker burst ...

courageous Rans is a witch, does not yield anything,

she knows she is a sorceress, you know,

knows how to use all the magic,

to make a thousand and one follies

Rans is a witch, very beautiful and delicious, you know,

but with the broom she flies ever

although now she is in love,

she betrays her life, because ...

Rans is a witch!

VIDEO -------> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-gQANzZb2k&NR = 1

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Letter to a friend ...

"Hello,

if only I knew you are there somewhere, now I would not need to write. I would I'll probably sit at listen to your life and read it in your eyes. And you, I'm sure, would do the same. I like to imagine a walk with you, make sure you find your hand ready to grab the first misstep. Ready to get up every fall. I think of you, but not like the things I see around me every day. More like a dream. Made of clouds and dew. And a bit of light that never hurts. I think of you, and I wonder how you are.

For now, time passes without you. But I am sure that someday you might meet on the street in the rain, knowing that you are. You acknowledge. Among thousands of faces will be as indifferent to me. Lost and alone. Ready to believe again.

What do you do when it's cold? And when it's dark outside and dark inside?

I know, your answers will come. It will be mine. When the time each application will have no effect. I'll find it all inside your eye. Inside a silence.

But how are you? What do you have? What eyes? I know your heart even the slightest thought. But I do not see you. Friend ... friend?

I'll look for the helmet, the world and stop time. I find when I hold you in tears. And every tear will be the color of those things, incredible, never imagined, wonderful.

For now I write four words in the wind. I'll wait here. Dear sister. Dear brother. "

To the friends I've lost ... for those who have never had ... for those who will be there one day.

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And if the sun shone on my city ...

Beautiful and damned like a whore after a night of revelry. Smudged mascara and visible signs of fatigue and time. Sweet Lolita aging of an indecent innocence.

Naples this morning is bright, immaculately decadent ...

greedy, spewing waves of traffic and people along the road that leads from the central station to the shopping streets. Next to the square of the taxi, including the homeless and romantic toxic abstinence, Mac Donald gives off its odor of rotten democracy, while someone tries to sell me the illusion of a deal.

I get lost in the crowd crossing the station Coach, in the confused din of voices and machines always too high, the colors always too showy. Waste scattered here and there as careless strokes of a painter, bins burned and gutted, pale corpses of civilizations with the entrails of the wind.

It's warm and among the smell, smog and buildings leaning against each other the air does not pass. Garibaldi it is indifferent on its stone pedestal, pretending to look elsewhere.

By trying to avoid crazy drivers and pedestrians rushed. It 's still early and the Rettifilo stretches before me like a baby ugly and dirty, but smiling.

Way floor shops and street vendors, untangling between human and artificial obstacles. A little further on, where the cement gives way to heaven, you can see the color of the sea and the scent of another Naples oldest and most true. Unknown and buried. But no one seems to care.

I follow the mirage of blue Via Marina, leaving behind the Anjou Female. Here, beside the water, there is still some hope.

slide along the body of the most beautiful concubines, like the hand of a greedy lover in search of the last shred of purity to be preserved in spite of everything. But my search is futile because those breasts, that irrimediailmente belly were violated. In the summer heat from which I can not find shelter sin and corruption spread like gangrene.

There is, in these streets, decaying, grotesque atmosphere of celebration. Forced smiles in the tragedy, as jarring notes of a mandolin destroyed. Foreign hands that draw illusory rebirths over the disgust against the backdrop of peeling walls. Idiot on the faces of people ready to believe in magic tricks of yet another charlatan.

I look at the sea, looking for a breath of wind to get me my oxygen begins to fail. But the water closes in on itself like a prison. There is no escape, in this gray hood. Despair and stifled rage, screaming curses at me in silence anything. There is no love, no light.

And if the sun shone on my city? Probably not even me noticing. Not anymore.

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Desperately ...

"Hold me ... that our bodies entwined not leave even a passing breeze. Graffiami soul. that pain is sweeter if you have your taste and your eyes. I'm not afraid. The sky looks at my shivering greedy. And around the world is just another joke an envious fate.

two of us in the midst of everything else. Sand, sea, and night. So many nights to sell, without stars or sounds. Black and clear as my soul. Black. Cruel. And pure. The night and my soul. And you have that, holding them tight in one hand as they rattle. Play it, play them again. Breaks the silence and kiss me.

Get a star. A coincidence, I do not care. As long as they burn and be beautiful. As beautiful as when your looking through me. It redraws the reflection of my face. Fire and light. Take it and let it cling to my heart. I marks meat and deeper, where you can not enter. And then let it go.

Wind. The wind blows out here, like in winter. He caresses the skin. Your hands of wind on your skin in winter. O in summer is the same. And the skin. That vibrates and feels. It smells of everything. And nothing.

But breathe harder. And breath me as if I were all in the air. Not a dream. But solid as a land that lives. As dry land. But then when it's raining ... Rain and tears. And the rest. Everything else. "

YOUR . DESPERATELY.

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Starry Night ...

nestles gently on the crescent moon, surrounded by a sky dotted with stars onyx crystal. The universe as a whole and wrapped a blanket. A hug that he had dreamed for so long. The earth beneath her continued indifference his perpetual motion. A small crazy blue and green dot in the vast emptiness around him.
He thought of the infinite loneliness of that planet. The random combination of events which led to the birth there, in the middle of galaxies. And that, sooner or later, would disappear, leaving in its place the same blanks. And no one would have felt the need to shed a tear.
The life of this world was similar to his. Generated both by an unexpected accident, were brothers, sons of the same improbability.
A meteor passed leaving behind a trail of dusty and dull sound that is lost in the silence of floating in space. A distant star imploded causing a crack of light on the translucent surface of this solid sky. Nothing, done nothing, was crossed by vibrations exist.
Suspended on his swing silver, the space seemed a blackboard. Design pictures figures made of soft rays, like rays of evanescent light, powerful as solar flares. In his dreams of a solitary artist repainted the universe with its palette of light and energy.
was violently stabbed by the beauty of that vision so real and was lost in the midst of unknown orbits. Descents, gliding along the eddies of blacks holes through time and space without fear. He let himself be lulled by the current uncertain and tamed the fury of storms astral. He jumped as playing bell, from a meteorite to another, and danced on the bright tail of a comet. He looked shaky in the pupil of a pulsar to discover the secret hidden in the depths of those abysses of light and dark. Then he returned, riding a gust of wind, cosmic, to cling to its moon. A shiver went through the
giving away a tear. He closed his eyes listening to mute melodies that came from everywhere. Eternity in an instant. When he awoke in his bed back there, tired and banal as any day. In that dark room, too small to contain his soul.

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A little 'me ...

I do not like talking about myself ... maybe for the same reason that drives me to run in front of a camera and to blush in front of people who do not know. Nevertheless, I think it's fair to tell something of my life to introduce me to all those who have had the patience to read my blog. My name is Silvia and I am 23 years old. They are wandering soul, a rootless. Raised in Piacenza, 12 years I found myself having to start all over chief in the province of Naples. It was not easy, but never canceled this event that has changed my life. I attend the graduate program in Business Communication at La Sapienza University of Rome (God willing I will graduate next summer) and work for about a year or so in the bank in Caserta (but this is not really my dream job).

Ok so far I have said to me that others see.

But I ... I love writing and I believe in fairies. I am able to remain lying on the bed in the dark hours of my room to fantasize about it all. To imagine any other possible lives. All the alternatives ... like a perennial "Sliding doors ".'m restless, unable to stop even a single moment. I'm anxious. I love reading. devour books, one after another, and hide every time a new universe. I like science fiction, one steeped in social analysis, as classic Brave New World and 1984, as the novels of Ballard and distressing to those unlikely Dougla Adams. And I'm in love with Dylan Dog and Spiderman.

hate the light because it burns my eyes, which are clear, and forces me to constantly live with half-closed eyelids. I love the shadow and night. And the silence. But I'm afraid of the dark.

I like my short-sightedness, a slight fancy that (without glasses) I to live in a nuanced and light.

I have a younger brother and a younger brother at a distance, the Philippines, which came into my life this year alone. And I have two wonderful cats that fill my empty.

To my friends I'm a clown, always with his head in the clouds and is always ready to smile. I like to look carefree and hide my melancholy.

'm in love with life, although in the past I hated to the point of hurting me. And I'm in love with a wonderful guy who had the courage to bear with me for 6 years.

I hate to stay for more than a few years in stesson place. I am impatient, I do not like the static and so I always like to put into play, change, take risks and go ... and sometimes even win!

I like to run down the street with his head in the clouds, as in the middle of a movie set that does not take herself too seriously. I like to travel by subway and imagine the stories of all people in the eye crossing. I love to walk among the people, especially in countries that do not know, and hear different languages \u200b\u200b... let me rock the crowd without knowing where I take my walk.

I love animals ... all. And the colors. And the wind, rain, lightning, snow. The storms at sea and starmene sitting on the beach to watch. I love riding, although he has done very few times. And sleep hugging my cats.

I like chocolate and strawberries and cream. Hugs and kisses, a lot more kissing. I like to have friends to trust me. And keep talking to them pulling late. I like listening to people. And I like to sing loudly in the car driving home from work.

I like to dance, I like a lot. And the ice cream, strawberry flavor and kinder. I drink only water and some natural strawberry cocktail, once in a while. I sleep with a doll named cloud. And I love writing letters. I dream one day to meet my pen pal Sacha, a child of the Togo of which I have more news. And to live in a place where plants and flowers grow out from the vessels and spread to the eye.

I like caves, all that is secret and mysterious. I love the atmosphere of fantasy, and I think the elves, the fairies, ghosts and aliens. I love going to the movies, alone or in company. And the theater, and The Phantom Of The Opera. I love reggae, and Hippie. Dream In the '60s and a broken-down Volkswagen van to turn the colorful world. And I like rock music because I scnvolge soul. And the dark makeup on my eyes, I looked for a bit 'dark.

I like people to believe me mad. And those who know me well love me for who I am. I would not be anyone else ... just a little 'more beautiful. But really, I do not care that much ...

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Pensiero stupendo ...

I wanted to share with you the beauty of this wonderful gift ... An exceptional gift from the heart and hands of the most important person in my life. Thank you MY LOVE!

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Walk ...

slipped, it was already daylight, along the sunny streets that led to the country. He had left behind the cold gray cement, which not even the summer sun could warm up. He was walking deep in the first heady scent of some kind of fruit. And while his mind was filled with the colors of summer.

Along the dirt road did not meet anyone. The people, the formless mass spectra that throughout the long winter had lived in hastily city, it was all game. The world, that little world full of life, it was all at his disposal. Drops of joy and freedom they filled my heart, and time seemed to slow down.

fast The moments that had anguished over the past months, seemed now proceed to the slower pace of his beats. And his breath beat the time of his steps. Inspire. The first trees broke the monotony of the cornfields now yellowed. Small masterpieces propped green color that caressed her eyes.

He chose a more leafy senior, sat down and occupied the small profile of shadow had drawn on the lawn below. His gentle hands touched the grass, which bent for a moment, then return to their positions originrie. He caught a small daisy and he put in her hair. Reassured by the presence of so alive, her body felt cleansed. The lifeblood of the flower seemed to slowly absorb all the poisons accumulated in the past days in the city.

There was, where he arrived from his eyes, hints of human presence. The silence of those places so broad almost touched. So, sitting with her hair tousled by the breeze, he could hear the voices which until then had been ignored. Above her, hidden by the branches of the tree reassuring, birds chirping carefree. He tried to imagine the content of their speeches made flight and nests, and what she seemed to understand that language so shrill and Argentina. From a distance came to her, then, the dull hum of a few insects engaged in its daily exactmatch food. Not felt, strangely, no discomfort or fear. Only an immense respect for quell'instancabile work. A gust of wind stronger, and this time was to talk to the branches and leaves. Whispers and murmurs fresh and green that reached the ears like a beautiful melody for too long forgotten.

He lay stretched his body and pressing down on the warm soil. She closed her eyes and her skin fused with stems and roots. His hands became clods of earth and her heart quivered like the wings of a bird. A long, deep breath. It was there, right where he wanted to be. Always.