Hidden neighborhoods...

Our old neighborhoods end always 
empty. The daylights with the sun and
the pale bicycles. The home, the yards, 
the laughs.
The cinema...





Everything seems to change like 
we do. Sometimes between colors, 
and others fade. Sometimes in music, 
and others grey.






Look back...
Everything will be rusty through the time...
The irons, the shadows, the words. And the
cinema... Only the
echoes will never be ceased.
And the whispers in the dark.












Yellow, faded neighborhood of us. With our 
small hearts 
shy crammed into the walls. Countless hearts
that can hide the stars. 
Oh God!
Dreams, like music,  need 
space, and not hidden, small cracks...

Faded grey...

Parties will be always over. The strong echoes

and the perplexed lights. The frenetic

nights that always promise a new experience. Stronger.

Clear. Unique. A promise

that always fades in the first day light. 

Somehow like now, cities swallow

our memories. With

the buzz that accompanies

the wind. With  the silence that follows the storms. 

My city, like every city,

is confused from the colors and the bright

signs, and looks pretty. Pretty while

forgetting and being forgotten below the music… 

Small,  glass city of my dreams. It’s you, that we always 

return to, and we are always leaving from. With the

hope that you will change one day like us. With the

hidden fear that nothing changes. Never. 

The winter is coming. Here, rain smells

wet soil and fresh orange. It comes down with
the rush  that only dreams have. And the confused

town finally stops,

only for a moment,

sweeping a forgotten note,

red, 

deep red,

of the last summer.