O.O

I can't love. I can only feel that force that forces me into desiring a dream that repeats itself, features that reflect, a pain that submits me to my most tragic nature. A scent that reminds me the smell of my sheets that white winter night when I had you and lost you.

I can't love because I already love. I love madly and desperately, with the longing of the one who loves a dream as far as impossible, and each and every of your kisses are the breeze of the sea where I threw your ashes.

I love you with the brutal force of a star banished from the firmament. And I know I won't ever have you, just as I know day from night. I know all I will have left will be the torn memories and your silent void.

Rides and red shrimps.

Sway, sway, sway. Bump, bump, sway.

It's a calm starting for a hectic day. Twenty minutes later, and we're sopping wet, sunglasses and all. We stretch and blowdry ourselves. As there's no wind, we have to run really fast, but that's ok. Up, down, up, down, down...right? or was it up? Who cares anymore? We're already dry.

But the comfort of non-sticky watery clothes won't last long. It's our own fault, anyway. The pool, the fall, the river and the lake, we swam them all on strangely shaped logs. And then we walked through foggy halls from Greece to Rome, to drink from sweet flavoured icecubes.

And up and down and up, left, down, down, up...right, right? Again we don't care, again it's ok. Not completely dry, a bull with human body follows us as we save Ulises from the mad giant Snake and escape the fate of singing mermaids.

And finally, with your name on my skin, again, and the content of a properly used day, red all over and drained, I rest on my bed.

It was a beautiful day.