I look for something to write about, but simply no idea comes to my mind... lying there, listening to music and smoking, that's how I am. I see the smoke vanish into thin air, hear the wind singing bravely outside. Here all I see is a blank page waiting to be filled in; brightened by the faint light of a lantern that invites me to talk, but about what? Various memories come to the surface! I could talk about the darkness in which I find myself "literally" or I could talk about tomorrow, the crazy dreams, the fears, the secrets... The music is over and now only the wind continues to sing and it seems to say something that I cannot understand very well, but in some parts it sings the "fear" or the song of fear: gigantic trees around my house insist on dancing with the wind and this makes me afraid...
On the wall, I see my shadow and contemplate it: so young and beautiful, no marks on my face, no sadness or loneliness... It simply imitates me! The movements of the pen on the paper, the movements of my body, but she can't see me inside or outside... Darkness and silence here, the wind sings lower now and I can hear the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets and the beating of my heart, sometimes broken and sometimes fast... The night goes on slowly and the singing of the wind prevents the rain from falling, but the rain from my eyes insists on falling and wetting the words I write here just to fill the page and escape from something. ...With each memory, good or bad, they fall, I dry them constantly and my shadow repeats the gesture as if trying to calm me down.I look at the clock and only a few minutes have passed...There is still a long way to go before daybreak...What will I do with the rest of the time, when I finish this page? Sleep doesn't come, maybe It is outside watching the ballet of the trees.... There is no one to talk to except this page, but the light that allows me to write is growing weary and weaker by the moment, like me, on some days of my life... I must become friends with loneliness and see if it has any plans for me! The page is almost filled with patchwork pieces of myself. Should I take advantage of the darkness and try to mend them? I think it would result in something funny... Mending myself in the darkness with loneliness as a companion. I don't know if it's possible to patch yourself up when you've lost so many parts along the way: friends, loves, projects, dreams... I'll be a patchwork quilt missing pieces, but I know I'm not the only one. At this very moment, somewhere, there is someone trying somehow to find himself, to put together the pieces of a broken heart, looking for the dreams that were blown away, maybe by the wind... I stay here! I hear the wind whispering now... Maybe it's saying: rain may come, I'm leaving! And my eyes fill with rain too.
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