Howl

Sometimes the silence behind my thoughts screams, leaving behind a certain smell of bitterness.

I always stand between the miserable reality and the piles of dreams I keep collecting and I forget to wipe the dust collected because of the fucking time that is selling more and more expensive.

I collect with the corners of old napkins the tears that trickle down over the cheeks that I constantly meet in my travels and I torment myself in the nights that do not let me sleep in peace, to turn them into pieces of happiness .

I run more and more slowly on the paths trodden by only my boots on the edge of which I left seeds long ago of smile, to have passers-by reap in the months of April when spring still does not know if it has come or if it has to go .

I look for the people I choose through an extremely rigorous selection, with whom I can write The Miraculous Story of anyone .

I’ll be right back .

I hug you with love, endorphin.

P.S. This one was also for our international friends. 🌏🌎🌍

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