Sometimes I want to write simply to purge an infected wound. But I do not know hardly where to begin, so maybe just the beginning. I pull out words that only serve to make the broth, giving the opening words to syntactic carburetor, remove the head and principles of the translation stream of feelings and emotions. And then I
relocks. That's cool ... is a real eye opener and think you're flying on a lawn during a sunny day. Just as soon opens her eyes you find yourself standing on the brink of an abyss from which blows a stream of air to the bottom of the magma that flows around you is black, that heavy black and sticky fluid that you could touch the surface if only I had the courage to reach out a little 'further. But it is strange that all this comes just a feeling of quiet and calm resignation. Maybe that is not correct ... should I switch to the acceptance of resignation.
However, the action already to admit their feelings to themselves is an important step ... now seen that to understand what the heck I turn in. I need to talk, I need only a poor sacrificial victim. A person who makes me mannequin, is sitting there and although the microcuffie nods as he listens to music and watching me in the face with an expression of who got what I'm talking about.
Actually what I want to just hug him. Spending time with him. Hear it on my skin, feel his warmth, breathing his breath, let go at that moment deep inside of me, falling on the surface of the surface of my feelings and then fondle and tap the ripples it causes chills and, as caresses the wind ... with eyes closed, beating heart and a smile.
I do not think I could ever forget such a thing. Maybe lose the memory for the color of the clothes wear, maybe the place, but all that would be necessary to remember only her eyes, her warmth, the smell of his skin, his arm around my shoulders, her lips are very close.
The scary thing is that this is not shocking for his explosiveness, not for his tempestosità, not for any other feeling of my rickety foundations, but because it is there, inside me. Does not go away, no one wants to know, there is, still, I cross from side to side, from head to toe, deep chest, cell-cell, in every fiber. It is there and breathe with me and through me, a feeling so deep as to be perceived as heavy, is so alive to crouch around the heart and protect it from external influences, and reassured by his presence. He sleeps like a beast and all of a sudden becomes thin, ephemeral, blends, but as soon as I move here that stretches, stretch our legs and extends its claws, and I feel on my skin and inside me.
not want to hurt me, but there is, and is alive. And his serene majesty is shocking.
And I realize that I love him ...
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