with your name on my mouth and a kiss that never broke away from yours.

The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.

I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.

Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my blood? And who now owns my indecisions, my hands, my private pain, my pride?

Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.