Sounds easy enough, "I'm leaving."
But then what happens?
In a mind like mine, is starting to die, leave the streets and lives, will inevitably miss something. A view of my melancholy
multifaceted existence that always finds a way to get hurt.
Friendships that might result, they could turn, people you just met who have been intrigued for years and now that you know yourself leave them behind. All
continue to live without you, and you'll see other lives, other problems, other friends. Yet while
share accounts that you're always losing, always.
But when the man decided to open his eyes and broaden the horizon so much?
Since we've been condemned to the vastness of the world?
Perhaps it would be better to live in their own enclosure, indifferent to the reality of others, without the desperation to be a drop in the ocean and the overwhelming fear that no more drops you have loved and remembered.
People come and go in your life, but each leaves something and steal the same, I would follow you step by step, to know how you go, there next.
Yet even this is fleeting, because when you stop to aim the framework of a life of others you concentrate on your painting, it's a big job to do to become as bright as that of others.
You wonder if people will ever see her again when as you remember them, 25 years old and still have the scars of life have crossed our faces, but sooner or later it will happen and maybe you'll find yourself in front of a stranger, a person you loved with all yourself suddenly become foreign to your picture and you will not know where to locate it.
Finished.
Everything ends right? It will also be nice to her, because basically nothing is repeated and the emotions are never the same, but that's what I kills and lights me up at the same time, a moment and ends.
returned from my trip to solo a few years ago, I kissed every single stone in my town, I returned the same day (a trip of just over one month alone in Europe) embraced the milkmaid, I stayed to talk to the tobacconist for some now, and smiling at all the people who knew by sight. Underestimate how rich our little fence, how many anecdotes and stories told our little part, we can see beauty only after discovering new colors.
I go in search of color now and if I go back I know that everything will be fine, too.
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