Autumn is passing by my window wearing its sparkliest golden outfit this afternoon. Waving to the rhythm of the whimsy gusts of wind, Autumn leaves a trace of glassy raindrops and a scent of wet pine trees hanging by the door.
Being the first and the last person I see every day, you know me better than I know myself.
You support my every dream and hope, and you help me grow in every possible way.
In this day and age it's hard to strike a balance, but your smile scaffolds my day to day.
I'm grateful to the universe for having the crazy idea of coming up with its most perfect creation in the shape of you.
When you finally understand
That all you have is you,
Years of opression become
The wings of freedom.
Will I forget about you?
Not even if you send my memories to the bottom of the sea of obliviousness, letting it sink heavily and rest among other wrecks of your past.
I will anchor my feet to the rocks and try to contact you, even if all I get is a morse-code brief answer.
I'm and shall always be here.
Sometimes, you have to unlearn.
From an early age I was raised to crave for recognition: to get the best marks in class, to stand out from the rest, to conform to rules.
This perspective casts a shadow on my daily life. I find it hard to feel happy in a world that barely acknowledges my existence.
I've decided, for the sake of my happiness and peace, to ignore the indifference that hurts me, or even better, to care more for my own thoughts than for other people's.
Autumn rain on my tin roof and the thought of you floating delicately on these bronze leaves, each of them nesting a sweet memory.
I was immersed in a mindstorm as usual, with problems clouding my near sight.
"What's up miss? High five", said a kid to me.
All of a sudden, a warm breeze invaded my soul and I remembered I'm human.
A whirlwind of past memories has brought me here, at a place where no compass can tell the north apart from the south.
Each step I take in the quicksands of time leaves a faint trace of my presence, a reminder that I'm here and now.
And the sky that night was a worn tent where I hid from my personal tempests, to have some rest in the warmth of hope.
I began to walk our usual path backwards.
I glimpsed at your smile that morning. I saw the good turn sour and sweet again. I felt a coldness that melt to the ground only to grow tall after some time.
And through your icy words I understood that our story is nothing else than a Möbius strip.