LIKE THE SOUND OF A HARMONIC

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Thoughts slide into the folds of a mind with deep eyes as the sound of a harmonica, subtle and graceful.

Hands touch everything, as if looking for the sedation of one’s own anxiety. Thoughts screech in overlapping each other with the weight of their own information.

The dark turbid colour, the air makes an effort passing through the lungs.

The stomach is gripped by the nostalgic embrace of an endless anguish.

There they are, gathered in the most distant corner of my person, fragments of light filter every now and then from a door that seems never to open, to keep me company like old friends of a lifetime, the demons of my past: they are close almost apprehensively, worried that our friendship will never end.
Iron flavour.

My palate is firm, it feels nothing but the mockery of a hard and sharp taste.

In these moments you are blind, not even tears want to go through those eyes, to preserve the images, the last ones, of something that will not return.
This is the moment where life is no longer life and non-life is life.

You are looking for help, but you know that no one will be able to take away from you what has sunk into the bowels of your intelligence more than anything else: you need to reason, to reflect, to understand, to have an answer. No one will ever be able to really tell you what to do because they lack of a fundamental information: what happens inside you.

Like the sound of a harmonica

You seek company, shelter, in someone or something that seems to follow the knots of your rope. Time has passed, passes and will pass.

At the end, you will discover that you are by yourself, raising the trophy of your victory against bitterness, with a lot of hands that brought to you misunderstandings and revealed worries.

The door has opened wide, you turn back and, almost with nostalgia, you look at that safe place, which has lovingly caressed the starvation of your soul for long. You want to say goodbye to your demons, but they simply say goodbye to you. A shiver runs through your back, but the warmth of a new emotion calms every spasm.

You let yourself be caressed by a warm wind, a pastel light hugs you and you feel that the worst has gone, you can open your eyes and look at yourself, understand what you are now.

You left the caterpillar, now you have new wings, more beautiful and stronger than before. You will fly, you don’t know where, but you will fly.

You will look down on how miserable that room is. You have a new strength, you want to try it.

And the most beautiful thing is the beating of your heart, strong, which reminds you are getting excited, you are suffering, you are fighting for something you want and you don’t want to move away.

I have been several times in that room, sometimes for a long time, in others for a short one. Every time I came out of it, I understood something new and right after I found a new unknown thing.

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