I do not know what happened but now everything seems fragile and transparent.
coffee, my post it, the flowers on the table. Listening to strokes early in the morning, a Fellini movie before bed. It 's all so familiar and completely alien.
Living with the constant feeling that something is going to happen and notice the small differences from day to day, but make sure that everything is silent, that the days remaining unchanged.
I remember things, small and big ones, but I remember them. As the end of the poem recited a June evening. Just in that poem I came to Venice, by chance, (because the case is an exceptional comedian) and at times I fall to the ground. I look at people in the eye in the hope that recognize my eyes, but it never happens and I think it's because the look is not most, will never be the same.
0 comments:
Post a Comment