When too many teardrops hit the ground the surface becomes illuminated… and it seems that hope is born from the fundamental believe that we must live truly, even against our broken heart that tears us apart and dries our pride away…

A vulnerable self-image can project a powerful wall against any prolonged silence… and a single unit of music can refract all the feelings in the world…. crushed one by one under the gravity of the over-expressed loyalty…. how can it all come to an end ?

I am not in love:

# with the whisper of your name, fainted in a blind invocation;
# with the steps caught within our own rain, designated as the sole alchemist of a recovering sunset…
# with the recurring conversational gap, always diluted by your independence from me…
# with my own music of constant delay, granting you momentum for a final dance;

I know I am not since I am in love with the idea of love not being granted anymore… a fundamental victory over our (over)extended rights.

Looking already for the perfect ending for it, awarded with some sort of fading dreams (potentially of the solitary confinement within that negative side of your balance – at least one viable option)…

I do not crave for giving in just yet, time is merciful right now with my shielded perception and it seems to be more relaxed regarding its pace…. Now and then it skips a beat trying to rely on my own sound provisioning for the required sync.

I did become an unfolding governor and my independence is everlasting against a full sea of fair options for humiliation. Always keeping a good faith in empty thoughts and dry gestures, always seeking to accept sweet bits of grace from those unacceptable isles of personal freedom…

I am lost in between revamp and historical justice and I am winning strong… Yes… I might have arrived early to my late recovery.

I really need this with an overdeveloped convention on pride… To unwind the time spent into ignoring my statute of pure (un)limitation. I have already lost. It. Completely. And it became harder and harder to determine my position of determined belief. I cannot see it anymore.

Could it be a limit into your assurance to receive the counter-gravity of your overbidding actions, pressed against a divided and drained heart ? Will I be bothered to care about the refrain of it ?… You need to fill the gaps of your shapeless acceleration with something and memory comes first to serve.

Maybe I could run some more against my constrained judgement and let the cold wind serve my inertial choice of non-delivery. As I cannot (in this precise moment) speak the words or provide the reassuring gesture.  And it is all revolving… I could not force it anymore… I know the door, it is there on the main agitated path, targeting you to step into this other side of existence and in the same time stating vaguely some more thoughts of personal salvation. Actually this bit is ranked top, and you seem to be reckless ignoring it…

I am still going with the memory choice at hand, always protective and much closer to my actual running needs than any other second-hand epiphany . My ever-sweet adrenaline of disregard… It is said to be crucial especially if immediate danger is chasing you on an open field… The real danger here would be to try bury down into the concrete plane the entrance towards a yard full of stones.

Never felt in power with orientation tasks so I guess I would screw up the positional placement… And the main line of questioning would not make it to the end…. And even if it seems that you are given an array of choice, the reality is you get the only one question that you know has rhetorical statutory rights… And then you gasp for even more silence contrary to the actual noise-free surrounding.

You take that ever growing silence and you hold on to it…. It will help you raise. And why ever bothering for feeding the need of actual sound explanations ? Towards your frozen impossibility there is some light being shed, accommodated sometimes by discrete tears  as a clear indication of a past. The lights are already burning. They are in place. And they seem straight. I realize I can egress without looking back because I’ve already projected my departure long before my actual arrival…

Some half-value incentives might be derived from me actually stepping down … I figured if you do not put your fully heart into it you could salvage some of the initial reassurance. And since I managed to find this new craving for some binary logic I turn my head around, setting my next destination for a place where a certain keyboard might actually sound more than just alive. It would be like me,  genuinely re-evaluated for unexplored options.

And if the forgiving voice escapes from below, flowing in a weird manner, ignoring the facto gravitational trend, released by the blind justice, then we will be (probably) able to tear apart, without the recognition burden and without the light (re)encouragement.

The truth of our own overarching limit accepted as saviour of a potential future what if. A healthy alternative ?

I am already working on a coping project to be able to better support the transition towards another state of mind… the funeral for my older heart.

The new visibility prospect to realize the required transition phase has rendered this previous mentioned task as high priority work. And it is a serious amount of work to place yourself, the older version of you, in a wooden box labeled with generic and faded labels of joy or sorrow and move on. But sometimes moving on is the only ambition left and your last resort for (re)initialization.

As killing spontaneity is truly forbidden by any integration authority I would subscribe to the next wild wave of high expectations… and I would finally enjoy the ride.

Has moved me deeply while my mind was traveling with the pace of a balancing swing, carrying the sweetest voice ever, craving for more speed.  She was actually aiming for the sky as a playground that required little wings. I was lost within the scene, locked on this natural spark of color, reminding me that we were safe, embedded within a diverse potential.

My guardian angel was now present.

It’s silent and complete this crushing day,
Forgetting me indeed with less to say.

Because baby, when you taught me how to fly,
I was lost, you were out of my blue sky.

I’ve kept on losing  you too many times,
Without a single hope for perfect smiles.

But whenever I feel that burning need to cry,
I look up to you, my warm, bright sun and try,

Just getting lost again within your eyes,
So I can truly feel the touch of paradise.