dear laura,
am writing to you because you're probably the only one to read quesrto post.
almost four in the morning, and I have a huge desire to start living. have this experience? here, which ones do there.
at night, from now, or I woke up, I do not know. revive the awareness and the joy of driving single instant, to revive the sense of not guilty, the lightness and the awareness of not failing in its duty (no, not that. perhaps you can never have such an awareness. say then) to revive the joy of the unexpected, the not calculated. the breath of the project that can really be true.
and away from the leaden cloak of not deserve it ...
and many other things that I can not speak, imprisoned somewhere in the depths of my hope.
dear laura, why not?
why? why not? damned disease (did you see? I wrote it myself ...).
and tomorrow. which will be tomorrow? forget these moments? or savor again the exhilaration of freedom?
more, more freedom. I want it in your face like the wind in his nostrils like the smell of the sea or the rarefied mountain air, like an unexpected heart sank, as a fullness of joy, as the heat of the sand to clear head or the sight of pine trees from the bottom, lying on the ground.
want the music inside.
