The end of the pain


The end


I’m a sleeping dog. Sometimes I bite when someone shakes me.

You can understand much more by the expressions of person than from the words he/she says. A thousand faces who know nothing about the other one, meet each other at the same time, in a thousand places. Who knows how many things they hide from their life, when they meet to lie to each other.

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What’s the use of knowing each other if it’s never enough? The end

Nobody can help you when you’re in needs. It’s all dark. Your body doesn’t answer. Shadows crawl out of bed like snakes which have bitten you. Loud Laughter beyond the threshold. Insects with pedigree in the hole. Death has never been so close.

Yet that dark lady didn’t stop at my prison. Life goes on and someone is suffering about it. It’s that bastard who dug my grave with so much sweat. The end

Things go this way. I have to get used to breathing on fragile balances.

I like to wander following scents which spread in the air. I prefer to eat standing up, maybe for my habit of running, escape. The fear of being pursued leaves me between passions and torments, questions never so clear, but confused. The end

I love street food. Tanks full of watermelon and lemon. The table of a kiosk along a tree-lined avenue. Paper cones full of olives, potatoes, and chestnuts in winter. And then, die happy in the condominium courtyards, pierced to the heart by the scent of mirepoix for the sauce. I look at the laundry hanging and I smile. They look like flags waving in the wind.