Dizzy nights

I’ve been thinking about words and how they transform and build silhouettes, how they shape a world around you for me to watch as a black and white projection of what you had, you missed, you are. Unfortunately, my preference for alcohol does not allow me to keep track of all the threads or even choreograph them well enough while the session is going on. My eyes tend to close, while my brain reduces its capability to retain in order to shut down the house for a new whatever to come. And we go to sleep and again I miss part of the story, the truth, dreaming that I can listen, waking up knowing that there are parts of your script that I might never hear again. It could be such a waste of a game. But I guess it’s good for you to declare, clean, reduce, contain or apprehend... To capture. Click, and I’m missing the shot, damn it. My eyes are closed. But anyway, don’t stop drawing on air what I wish I could have felt on flesh. Conversations, places, odor, women, sex, love... By the way, what it’s the meaning of you saying you love me? What should I understand when your profound look stops obsessed on my eyes and say so seriously ‘but I love you’. What does that mean? One day you’ll tell me, in one of those exciting blast of phrases and ideas that whisky loves to bring, running out of your mouth like in a poem written with faith on sensitive consciousness. And I'll have to do some secret movements to be able to hold on more of you, because I want to see it, hear and feel it all. All of you.

And his answer was:

"Beautiful!

and, just as we dream while we sleep, my words, phrases, intense beliefs, are slowly resting into your subconscious. your brain will slowly let my words out to play upon your soul. they will be carried to every corner of your beautiful body upon your blood red cells. you'll know, one day, what i mean...and, you'll be the only one.

love"