Night
It 'a relief to the end of this last night, I can put myself to bed at 4 am to 5.10 am awake, raining, raining pitilessly, the little fears stirred restlessly about the house, the lights go out, the sky and' red sunrise, clouds and rain. I put on the road to Milan, I have to drive 3 hours without sleep, a heavy heart, a pain in the belly that devastates me. My eyes are wide open, I stopped on the stairs of stone, I sit, I look out the window of the door, I watch the dawn light that is being fought by the clouds and rain, and that issue a little quiet, Fyodor salt on my legs sonnecchioso and looks at me a bit, so one night I '...
One year ago:
I do not know how many times I went here and I can not write. These rectangles where you slip the words of comfort?, The company? I seem senseless. Our comments more or less nice, less loving, more or less philosophical, more or less poetic .. before thy rows.
Clash.
It is enough.
I seem unnecessary. What are you doing ..?
Quoyle in here dear, do not think I have much to write you after almost three years.
But I'm here to tell you .. hey ..
Just this.
Even though I know it well that's not enough.
You hug ..
You know not 'a problem, I know you are there and are close regardless of whether you write or not write, you're just.
There was a poem I had written some time ago on the blog on the sense of lack. It 's not a question of enough or not enough I think. Sometimes even I am sick of comments philosophical and poetic, sometimes their own solipsistic, who have not used at all (but probably it 'difficult to grasp because' everyone projects his feelings on the words, remember our misunderstandings in the dictionary and the meaning of words?).
In reality 'upina dear I have not quite decided what to do, are waiting for enlightenment, regardless of this space, the need to talk and to listen, to communicate, I do not know what to do and what direction to take, the fact that has brought all of this does not mean that I will write here, I will write again, that I 'll still want to talk and talk, too many times the words have betrayed me and I was betrayed by my and others' words. The music, well that I can not practice it a lot these days, makes me nauseous, and 'bufffa this thing and know it well, already feeling' try.
And 'fled the summer,
nothing remains.
It is well in the sun.
And yet this is not enough.
What could be
a leaf from five points
I was on the hand is placed.
And yet this is not enough.
Neither good nor evil
passed in vain,
everything was clear and bright.
And yet this is not enough.
The life I took,
under the wings protecting me,
saved me, I was really lucky.
And yet this is not enough.
The leaves are not burned,
there were no broken branches
The day is clear as crystal.
And yet this is not enough.
Arseny Tarkovsky
Hugs to you