To you, I’m neither a traveler nor a refugee.

And I just want one thing: To get into your dream.



Why you?

Who are you that is in my heart?



I can’t draw a picture of you,

Your face is so bright that I can’t look at it.

I can’t see you.



I have nothing in my memory of you but the rainbow of your lips: A pink mysterious dream that might happen.

When I try to remember your eyes, I see nothing but the shadow of your smile around them.



When I imagine your lips, their honey drops kill me.

When I extend my hand to touch your heart, it’s burned by the warmth of its beats.



Who are you stranger?

Tell me your secrets and take away the fog around you.

Let my illusions turn into truth.



It’s painful seeking you.

I don’t know what to write to you yet.

The words are gone. I’m burned by your absence.

….



Hey stranger!

I wish we were able to write about a love escaping the crowds.

A Love we don’t touch with our hands but we feel through papers and beyond our senses.

Our fate my beloved is to wait and wait, for a moment that might never come.

So, I live a second life through what I write, even if my beloved never comes and I never touch her lips.

..



You think that writing feeds itself?

Words give birth to words?

Can love live just on the paper?

No!

I want to fly.

I have a body and a soft heart.

And there is still enough room in my life for us to live in, on this land.

With everything in the land that deserves to be lived for.

I hate to write when writing builds a world of words.

I extend my arms to hug my beloved to find that no one is there.

I have nothing but WORDS.

It’s just words, even though it seems more than words.







………..

BUT WORDS?
WORDS CAN KILL...AND CAN MAKE U FEEL ALIVE...
JSUT LIKE HERE..
THANX FOR A BEAUTIFUL WORDS