Unresolved pain. Nostalgia. Fire. Vivid dreams at night. Immense love. I read the other day something an old friend once told me. Go back to what you were good at when you were a child. That's where your natural talent is. I go back, and so many things come up. So many interests. Infinite curiosity. I loved words when I was a child. But I also loved animals and nature. I also loved music and poetry. The beach made me go without sleep. I also loved to dance. I remember attracting people's comments while dancing at parties. Not because I was good but because I did my own thing. I also liked cooking and baking from an early age. Books were also my private world. But who am I now, forty years later? I listen to Riccardo Cocciante, and my heart fills with raw emotion. How can someone be so good and write the most beautiful songs? I need to understand Italian better, but what I know and feel with his songs is beyond anything material. The power of art has to move us. That streng
Tempo anterior ao descontentamento. Tempo de agora. De ver. Veludo. De tempo azul. De anil. De amarelo movimento, surto. Amarelo de coragem, de medos des-habitados. Tempo quente de ser, tocar. Tempo de beijos na boca. De rua, de passeios, de esquecimento, de sorrisos despetalados da face clara e esperada.
Comments
Post a Comment