Poetic Mood ⋅ Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

♀ «I fell asleep... I... I fell asleep...  I fell asleep, but in my dream, I was awake and  you were there flying through the air. You told me a lie about blue light... ... tutoring in your eyes and you dove into the ocean and never came up. Because I was awake, I wept after...  Your face appeared in a cloud... I put a photo of the cloud online and  I smiled and I knew it was a dream. When I shook myself out, my body was soaked a thousand times over sweat  and tears and strangers and forever... •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ♂ Sure, everything's fine»

On the tiptoes, slyly, without looking back but just scrolling down, we’re going forward through one diaphanous steam. The breath, the eyelids, are wrapped up like at the beginning of the world without having burdens, without nothing, but just moving ahead, guided by the purity of light in pictures of any day. The paintings are shaped with sounds. The brush seems more that’s comforting us rather than giving us colors… by playing so tenderly with us, with a thin fog, with steam, with a black and white, where time doesn’t exist in the morning galaxy, but just a 6 am & do it again, instrumented with the fire in the heart in an equitable tint of the transparency. On the tiptoes, slyly, to not shaking life, we look to find ourselves for not wasting a classy love under a deep feeling that unfolds without being rather than be, in waiting for falling stars, for making happen, for taking a fragment, which even if is there, it’s perfect for being held, and to look almost like a happy time th...