…do you remember the childhood endless summers, the smell of grass mixed with cement and bloody knees from all the millions climbed trees…the streets with their own story, smell and breathe. old, strange, black and white streets. one most beautiful then the other. they were all wrapped up in the most horrific air. old houses transformed themselves in vigilant monsters with sleepy eyes but full of ancient wisdom. preserving secrets for the people with warm understanding. like a comfortable friend that you know that will not judge you nor betray you…and in the afternoon…the way sunbeams projecting stories on the houses walls like an old camera. you, the observer filling the empty spaces between you.from you. rewriting everything that existed once. transforming everything in your own mysterious language. what an astonishment in front of mystery. and nothing seems impossible. you wake up in the middle of the mystery and there’s nothing else to do then step in it deeper and deeper…you vanish.
And then all you’re looking for is a way back. back on that street were your dream began. but everything is unrecognizable.
I’m still looking :)
