With time the desire dies, distant voices become echoes, faces fade behind early shadows, and the sparkle in the eyes turns dark.
The laughter that once sounded dies, the dreams that once burned in flames, and those moments that will never come, dissipate into mist, into sweet stigmata.
You move away from the noise, the dancing, the singing, the places that once filled you with life, become empty, a distant echo, a passing shadow, wounded sadness.
The hands that sought to touch the sky, fold in calm, in signs of oblivion; you curl up at home, a refuge of ice, and in solitude you find your destiny.
But in the gloom, where the soul languishes, a whisper can be born, a small sparkle, a faint flame that never goes out, a subtle beat that revives the ground.
With time, you sow in silence new hopes, shoots of emotion, experiences that are born, dreams in suspense, desires are reborn, they blossom in your heart.
With time, hidden desires, moments of the soul die, but are also reborn, and even if life sometimes moves, it sows in you an eternal calm.
