I spend days to let it drift, waiting for a change, a change that never comes.
I spend days to sleep and dreams have a much greater consistency of reality.
I love my life and I learned to love these too empty for me as I care for a child out of control, I let go, sooner or later get tired.
Sooner or later I get tired. In fact, sleep and dreams
comfort me.
not regret the past but still seeking a future, each day is the first of a new life but I always take forward the same day, the same unhealthy habits, the same loss of time, the same anger that catches me morning and evening: nausea, dizziness. I shook my head, resigned to me. If you really want to change things simply, I would change. But there's my
twenty-nine years and I no longer see the prospects that I thought I wanted, but only a vague, indistinct discomfort .
The reaction, my reaction is still hiding: there are temporary positions, small efforts, until the round begins again. Let's face it: for years that this continuing mantrugiare has lost its charm.
I tried other things but they are not made for them, but just to continue to escape, to continue to let them drift, waiting for a change, a turning point, which never comes.
Like a swarm of insects thoughts crowd the mind, without any possibility of rest. night like any other, interrupted by the thought of losing something that is constructed. Faure meaningless. indescribable sensation envelop his mind. breath, take my time. I open my eyes. And his eyes are there, fearful and careful observers, to be my shield against invisible enemies. breathe again, take my time.
I shake the thoughts you are strong.
I get up, I relax. few minutes to wander in search of peace. Slow breathing. Adjust. Session to calm the pace. And then, everything that comes to mind. That fear that the heart was not saying that everything is not true. slow breath. Conscious of what was concealed. Vivid dream still really slow. Army of calm and certainty, expect that my body responds to mind. Torno. His inquisitive eyes, tense and worried. A caress. A smile. Dreams. Mirror of thoughts. But sweet is the reality of my world. And fear can not scratch.
Night made of smoke and lots of water, made up of memories that night making me mingle heart beat faster. Night of words and echo of laughter, this house seems empty and abandoned in chaos, I wander like a ghost looking for, hoping to sleep a thousand miles from here, hoping that you, thinking of all this, I have the same smile idiot and uncertain. The smile of those who suffered and those who nevertheless want to believe it. I look in the mirror and after months-after-years I feel alive, ready, ready for anything provided that all is well your . Night
searches made of odors, moments so vivid as to be to be present but, in fact, already mentioned: to reconstruct in my mind all that has happened is impossible, because what happened is impossible, what is of another planet as you would say, is something to dream as I would say.
Impossible, impossible, impossible. Yet we have laid a small slender thread, heart to heart, and tonight I will limit myself to listen in silence, confused and terribly happy but quiet, this dialogue that takes my sleep and breathing, this box continues for days between you and me.
Between you and me, between us, because now, whatever happens, I believe, There is us.
