She is a piano, somehow binary but mostly infinite, drowning within a sea of semitones.
She is the wind, blowing away hopes of having your way defined as a straight line.
She is quite wild… The discovery of a silent nanosecond makes her laugh.
She is everything and nothing… forcing you to imagine a frame of a rainbow diluted in concrete,
She is weak, she is dying in my eyes, she is gone… She is me.

#Initialization

– And how do you see her? Now … it may be easier for you to recognize her… Tudor, you can speak freely about her… You really are allowed…
How is she? How’s Emma …?

[… pause…]

– Or maybe you can define your love for her… Or maybe her love for you… Unfortunately / Luckily there is no available symmetry concerning this chapter… If you were to think of a single word… that would capture it within a hidden essence: How do you see Emma’s love?

– Emma’s love? Her love is like a cigarette … smoked on the run and then faded out within a moment of giving up … Some kind of… burnout. I think I have a definition for this too …

# (def.) Burnout = A burning outside

I am just a moment of breath,
A jerk, cramped grief,
suffocated by the other unprepared brothers,
unconscious of the inevitable ephemeral ignition …

I’m just a wandering moment on your trembling lips,
just a monosyllabic stream of smoke,
just an inner tear that poisons your lungs and heart,
the real medicine for the sweet shyness that drowns you.

I’m just a piece of love,
abandoned within a sea risen from the ash of recognition,
I’m just a moment of sweet cowardice, guilty pampering,
the singular instance awarded with every single new hope.

It’s me, the discreet tormentor, the claimed shadow, the dust
that envelops you and defends you always …. from you.

(fragment from The last 21)

I possess no more favorable words… no more charity … no more unpredictable tables of association… nothing sharp, nothing cold …. I’ve got simply nothing, with a tangible sense of humor… my legacy growing up null towards a uniform integration into a cruel & forgiving world.

I am weak… yes I am weak and dependent of you, probably I was born this way, under the projected shadow of a singular universe created from a tear of yours… or maybe from a perfect smile crafted by a sweet awakening… You are the one teaching me to occasionally say a half-pronounced “Yes”, me being usually rendered mute facing the complex struggles that tear you apart…

I often want to embrace you in my silence, to indulge in the binary time that I am offering you sporadically, adjacent to my inertial rebellions … I see how you act, how you turn the house around me into a functional entity, how you take on role after role while I constantly hesitate to integrate…

I do not have the power to tear myself apart and to see you … I would like to become a man, to be arrogant and sweet, to embrace with aftershaves and field flowers, to cook for you with divinely ingredients harvested from the heart of the current season … I would like sometimes to refrain your chocolate wings and to hold you prisoner in a sea of ​​beautiful memories … but you want to shake mountains, you are so serious, infinite, far…

Sometimes I would like to know you vulnerable and docile … I would take you by the hand to the safest escape, I would slowly kiss you to give you a trace of hope … I need to believe that all this is still possible in a merciful time registry…

My dear … I would like you to understand that we are solitary men and that when we talk, we do it most of the times for the positional recognition, but we internalize the essence … you have to make that maximum effort to get us out of our world unframed and devoid of complicated dreams …

Sometimes I hope you get too tired or simply just bored of following me, thus failing to notice the fear of my eyes, darkened by a complicated love … You’re so beautiful.

I cannot advance it anymore,
I cannot react in this sorrow framework
of pretended understanding,

I want it to be real, concise and reassuring,
Revamping in the dark the idea of a potential us,
Wrapped between the edges of you and me,

I am falling, resisting this upward trend
of fair playing with the most perfect…
non-communication.

If I could shape the sound of your absence
as a single light source, escaped from the everyday norm,
I would fly it high above, as a governor flag,
Casting a sweet fading shade over my limited belief
In a singular fair world re-evaluation.

It is the air surrounding your departures,
Setting my loneliness in a light sunset fire,
Crushing the last rising quote… of understanding.

You falling lost deep down among my dreams,
What a beautiful journey…

I was not really aware of the indefinite depths of you, surrounding my floating heart with viable options of care and resistance… I was not really parked in our safe alley, normally projected as floating in a suspended state, hovering above any interaction with the usual indefinite flow of banalities…

I was simply not there, not capable of observing you as my sane alternative to the complex array of indecisions…  We know for a fact that a certain type of gravity will expand time exponentially, creating that sensation of an accelerated traversal in relation to the common reference point…

When we talk about our feelings and interdependencies, these valid equations seem to be commonly disrupted by a repetitive, modulating force, a sinusoidal flow in a natural state that will enhance our memories to either expand or contract the average self valuation towards a never forgiving truth…

We cannot escape what we are, the limitations imposed as self-therapy, time and especially the false certainty of being granted a sufficient momentum set focused on retrials… In a long time, I feel the need to elevate my loneliness towards a brand new filtering state of mind.

Thought: Happiness is the measure (or maybe the projected price) for our self sufficiency.

I believe it all comes down to the perfect state of constantly being spoiled… You desire more and more each day when, if you truly remember, there was a time when it was all about a fragment… a brief moment… a smile, a whisper…. all those wonderful bricks with priceless value turning into a structure with a formalized price, diminished by our comfort zone and ownership considerations.

It is much harder later on to accept that an entire self contained and complex puzzle cannot be scrambled back towards the initial enthusiastic fragments while performing a certain state of flashback review and cold stone (re)evaluation.

While targeting a deep, silent and complete alternative for more, I try to let myself believe that whatever lines I’ve crossed I’ve buried them down with a certain reconfiguration of my fragmented memory that could allow me to hope for the more than perfect lost beginnings…