Who would have thought? The certainties now I'm scared ... Know you are different from imagination, from the sweet illusion in which I lived as in a bubble, in which I basked comfortable as a cat lying in the sun, to know that you could destroy irretrievably lost My fragile dreams would break into a thousand pieces like a mirror and it would be impossible to fix. It's me, myself, I want to avoid a meeting, I who looked so much, that many times in the street I stopped to investigate if it was for that girl if you had hit me on the pace, for 'hairstyle, a gesture designed your shadow. It is I, myself, I do not want to re-establish relations not to pay the price of disappointment. So
remains suspended in the limbo of my thoughts, a woman in the bottle on the shelf: what you have are words barely discernible, as the sea's voice heard in an external sound asleep or disguised as a dream just before awakening. You lose and you'll find at any moment and you're not recreate what you were like and how you Contamination with other women, with other ideas, you mingling with the desires of the unconscious, with his projections. It ends up that showcases the side of you that I was in, that of memory, that of intuition: it pops up with a plausible figure that tells you but that is definitely false, as I convince you otherwise. And this hyperbole you continue to develop, to change itself, rises to power on a true but without checking the accuracy of the calculations, and any error you are away, as those who take a road full of forks to choose a fork in the wrong way and continue right, sure to be on the right path: Clearly, after the first error, all data are unpacked and the false choices accordingly.
yet thought to act with reason and not with the heart. Might be able to rationally cope with everything and was not a narcissistic contemplation of the goddess. Want you to reduce to a pure mathematical formula seemed to me a good insight and was not that un'indecorosa cowardice, I will say more: a core of base metal coated with a false gilding. My search was not that hypocrisy. In short, the dream is gone inlaid with reality has been reduced to mere ravings, has become a sprawling octopus devouring rare flashes of lucidity and features as stainless beliefs illusions less sensible to believe the real focus images while preventing contact with reality. Clearly we find ourselves in a comment happened that never happened, not recognizing the undeniable gap between reality and dream.
For this reason, now that promises a fixed point around which a buoy turn, I leave aside the utopian illusion that my not fall as crystal, because my love will not go to pieces impossible to bond. Pull the sheet over the head worn and faded memories of me and Corinth because memory is known to have large gaps where sometimes breaks suddenly the dream to gallop unbridled.
Design by Dino Buzzati
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