Listen...
Ghosts are falling from a past life, in a constantly way. Their steps resounding all over the ceiling. They are reminding me the distance between me and my former self. I look at the windows of this room and I can see they are dim, vaporizing all my fears and shriving in small drops. If I began to think about actions I have done, situations I have experienced, paths of distant choices, these ghosts scream and shiver, telling me to start all over again. Some days they only pass in front of my line of vision, smiling. Other days, they come for a cup of coffee, a little chat and making quotes of books long forgotten.
In depth, night come as a cold blanket that can’t cover anything, it only brings despair and a sense of missing. Windows knows every corner of the eye, every whisper, every inner voice.
Listen…
Raindrops are falling...

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Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
Aristotle

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When I open my heart,
your footsteps sound deep inside,
I try to keep attention to see if I could watch them come closer,
because your heels yield a twist in my heart,
and very often causing it fall to the floor.
My steps are orphans,
long ago they lost their destiny.
Nevertheless, once in a while,
they found their way to you,
just to see you passing by...

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Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You cannot try to do things. You simply must do things.
Ray Bradbury

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A sea,
blue under the skin,
miles of wonder walk around the sun.
I hear a familiar sound,
a battle between earth a granite,
only faith and hope can survive to this endless struggle.
The sight of a warm fireplace could grant this sailor
a safe port to come to
and could bring and end to this amber,
to this anguish that withered me.

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Today I can't imagine anything. I don't know, maybe something is missing. Maybe is a lack of creativeness. Maybe is because almost anything can distract me. I simply don't know. I never been good with math, so you can say my concentration really stinks. When I was a child at elementary school, I constantly forgot all the poems they tried to taught me, so I never contested in any competition. Well, that still happens. The process of how I learned to tie my shoes was a painful experience. Maybe its just an atrophy in the most important muscle in the body. I don't know. But what I do know is that I can't imagine a life without you.

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If you put a slice of easiness on a bread
with a spoon of tender
and then you add a little spoon of pure and red love
What do you get?

Bisquits with mermelade, ham and a cup of coffee with someone you love

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Any life is made up of a single moment, the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.
Jorge Luis Borges

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Trying to get pearls from the sea,
I met the universe,
and I could saw the primary begin of everything.
I look up and watch two spirits flying around,
Two dreams who ask me to stay and foresee the future,
that thin line dividing the horizon.
Since the day I came to you for the first time,
I ask you to peel my skin to found the center of my lips,
to found myself at the edge of this crude matter
That beats with every touch
And every word printed by your whisper.
Future is only another way to call a mouth full of promises.

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Seeing clouds in the city is more than a hobbie. Someone might say: "It's a craft". From sunrise till dawn run like fugitives, like thieves that just escape out from under the earth. Like thirsty nomads crossing the desert, they only have hurry to survive. I can't imagine any other kind of clouds in the city, those with agressive mix of colours, from grey to red and violet, leaving a trail of questions, a path to the inner circle.
Who can stand immovile to this spectacle? Can anyone stay in blank when shreds cross the above?
I cannot say if this visions calm demons, but certanly make this earth a little easier to digest. Just to watch the reflection of human soul above some of it's most precious creations, might be a sign of times.

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My mother has a very special gift. She's like a barometer.
Since I was a little child she has this ability to make chicken soup with vegetables in rainy days. Didn't matter if it was a bad day with difficulties in every corner.
Years later I wonder...
Did my mother ever knew about the healing qualities of her soup?
Did my mother knew about the problems I had on those rainy days?
Whatever is the answer, now that I'm doing my own chicken soup with vegetables it doesn't tastes the same.

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Finally I came from the desert. My eyes were hurt by the extreme weather: the sun, the sand and the backyard of your eyes. But I felt deep inside of me, that my pain wasn't only from the weather. I believe it was from the bones.

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