Here. Finally, Lily was a ghost again. Transparent enough to get through the things without necessarily having to show suffering, while maintaining the property or of the facts reflected an inconsistent floating for a short time. Not be touched was an exercise in denial that it was survival. It was the inevitable precariousness of her state of ghost. Few believe in ghosts, and many, however, prefer to believe not to have around, to avoid having to admit not knowing how to deal with fears. Moreover, since childhood we are taught to sleep peacefully, without thinking you have monsters under the bed. Lily now, in the same way, tried the only possible contact with those wires on the network, high above his head, rather than following in his head, the threads of his thoughts. The threads of his thoughts dispersed in the air as something that is knotted and not connecting. If these wires had touched the ground instead of staying in the air, they would find land and would grow a really big tree under which to rest like a child who has defeated all of his monsters, which has nothing to fear. But the ghosts do not find rest. Perhaps there was nothing there where it seemed that there was anything that moved. Perhaps there was only magnified by the moonlight shadow, already guilty of the moon, which was so great in heaven to look like a white ball suspended in the infinite, tickled by the tips of the cypress trees just for a game of perspective. Maybe there was a child lost, that not even Peter Pan had found. Or maybe it was music that was not his time. He was paralyzed a dance on a stage too small. It was the air between the leaves of a tree cut off before he could touch the sky. The fact is, not knowing what it was, and that history had been widely publicized, perhaps it would be better to look to their shoulders and say that there was nothing there before. Or perhaps, a few steps forward, one could also take that child by the hand and dance throughout the world, following the music that melts his notes as if there were no other music can. Delete the question of existence by opening their eyes and stop denying and deny life. Because you only live once and time goes by, not only of course, but deeply inside you. It is not true that we change, we remain the same, giving each other life occasions. Just get close, reach out and touching to know as children and the blind. A delicate gesture, which has the sole care not to hurt and not injured.
Lily fell to the ground, still tied to the thread of the story he had just read about a spider's web. His thoughts still sbrezzavano in a vacuum, but they seemed to have found a direction of wind-blown. Like a white balloon in the sky that moves not by chance. Like a white balloon that is perhaps the moon. A white balloon that stands out bright in the night, of which just can not deny its existence.
0 comments:
Post a Comment