Take care of my silences, of the obstinate fake good humour, of my soul lightly touched with unfulfilled desire.
Take care of the disorder of my thoughts, of my hope and the fear of lowing the dreams that darken my flight.
Take care of the warmth of an embrace, of a friend who betrays, of a journey that does not lead but leaves.
Listen to the silences that speak of me, of you, of the torpor of the soul and of it energy. They will tell you to look at your destiny and to speak to your dreams.
In my hand you will not fall, and the magic, the fear and the waiting around the corner are in the end just solitude, but actually all of that sadness never existed.