When you're alone with his own silence, the body takes voice , the beat begins its journey from the chest up to the eardrums, you hear the blood flowing slowly, and remember to take thickness, color and fragrance, as blades of grass between his fingers. The thoughts, trapped by eyes wide shut, cradling invented melodies, flared nostrils breathe the world, hands clasped, are nests where to find the lost peace. The look far to chase dreams lived beyond the family pillows, beyond other men, and - sometimes - are not there. And 'at that moment that the presence is to sit beside us, in absence.
I decided not to step over this earth but my feet have found the source.
The starting point of dreams. I'm back here, like a deja-vu, like a stolen kiss, a feeling like no call for me.
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