If I could tear off, one by one, each button of this feeling.
Then I would watch the fury with which, from the house where they stand at the window, they rush at us, into the emptiness of the hands, full of you.
Could I rip off each button and undress me and you. Then we would be in this nudity, just feeling.
Torn, still with trembling but firm hands, torn and lost of me and you, found in a touch of skin because rationality balances us, but it's from the fury that invades our veins that we reborn, a thousand times.
Falling in love with you in this vertigo so tranquil is to feel alive and torn from all doubts.
I only feel you.
The bad thoughts I abandoned them in a corner of your body, and I didn't even say goodbye.
Hello Passion
Each one of us are a lot of things, some more, some less, but for sure we can not be defined by a single word, usually online, we, or some, tend to imagine someone else by what that person write, and someway try to incorporate someone in a specific drawer, according to what we see and read. But it's more complex than that.
The small text "Hello Passion" I wrote it some time ago. Nowadays I don't write as regularly as I used to.
Unlike some (thought, I don't know), to write I need disequilibrium and some sadness. And I don't feel that calling right now.
Photo by me
