Waves break my patience, strident sounds break my creativity, I write, I stopped everything, everything stops, my chakras are rebelling against me, my feelings are revealed to my heart, the reasons are lost and time melts, you disappear in the mist of my screen, in the fog that surrounds my bedroom.
I wish many wishes, dream many dreams, so many noises overwhelm me, this is impossible, this is a dream, books pounce on me, their pages confuse me and I’m drowning in a sea of letters, letters make words make sentences, which in turn makes paragraphs, which in turn makes stories.
I wrapped a halo of letters that separates me from reality or is that really separates from me? I do not understand, my writing stops, break the sheet and I start again, I find that that thought I discarded was good thing, I repent, I release, I wrap, I get lost.
Here you come with your smile, you come along with your love for me, my mind becomes entangled in wires from manuscripts in me, I complicate myself in a love story, a story that makes me dream every day, in a story, yours and mine, in a delightfully charming story.
Whenever I get confused between entanglements or between decidedly undecided decisions, you arrive to save me; you always take off the choking from my hands to stop me from speaking in written letters.
When you’re not here, loneliness hugs me, to have you near me always makes me somehow happy, you make me be myself, you make my mind burn with creativity, you make the fire of imagination ignite by a flare of words in a messy order , all words are beautiful, but their beautifulness depends on the use of the writer.
My mind plays juggling with words and makes smiling faces at me while I dance for a story, what I would give for one, my heart beats frantically, my nerves falter, I do not know what to write, I lose my time in front of a blank sheet, the sheet withers.
But you always convince me that everything has and deserves its history, and that history flourishes when my feelings are motivated, when sounds are melodious and transmit beats to my imagination.
I put what connects you and me on my head, a sphere of inspiration wraps me in it and nothing stops me, nothing tells me not to write, nothing can, with you, nothing stands in front of me me, nothing melts my time, nothing hangs my hands and extracts from them the words to write, with you, everything is written, everything is art.