The sky and the sand melt away with the feeling that this moment is eternal; and has endured through all stages of this Earth. (…) To know that, and to know that my soul will wander through these sands and stars, is what makes this landscape so beautiful.

It’s June again and you’ve been dead for three years now and yet I find myself thinking of you. You, that brought so much light and colour to my life, and left me so quickly.

There is no end because there is no beginning.

Before the womb there was the woman, and before the woman there was the womb.

I was born and I will die, but my spirit will haunt this earth. 

if i could just/return to the womb

and be there/eternally

in the/young smile

in my mom’s photograph

I once closed my eyes, expecting to find darkness and silence, a place undisturbed by the world outside. However the darkness never came, and in the closing of my eyes I felt a thing unfurl from inside of me…

Everything

scapes me

but the vision

of you

he made his work immortal through his representation of the human condition of forever searching for that light, divine or not, that will guide us to happiness.

My hands would dance

in the air, swooning for the Moon,

so near, at my side

i am everywhere but in myself

it’s possible to find pieces of me lying around

And so, the conclusion I came on, after a few hours awake (I now recall), was that maybe I have always been there. I think I was born in that blue and endless space.

If I were in black and white

Living in a black and white world

I would be like one of those girls in black and white movies…

What is that something or someone without which my existence would be unbearable?

I can only hope time started to look to you, as uncertain, as unbelievable and as relative as it is.

just some really random poem I wrote about my strawberry-chocolate pie in a cafe waiting for my love to arrive…

I try to sleep, but it’s useless. I can’t sleep with the world screaming and whispering in my ears.

there is something that have always lived within me, and that is the need to read and to write.

the tears may be clear but I know they are actually blood

disguised as something pure and beautiful when in reality I cry in red

We stand (as always) in the shore of things, in the shore of truth.

we must let them keep their secret, must let them keep their treasures and their knowledge that none of us will never posses.

what is that thing that eat us inside out?

Can it be that we all have the same disease?