2nd of November 2016

Dear Diary,

my skin is thirsty for rain, the linger rain that fulfill a whole day without regrets, that comes calmly as Schumann and late as Chopin’s melancholic Nocturnes.
The rain that transforms every wistful sorrow into a musing autumnal feeling. My unquiet life should had been full of quietness from the beginning… but, I was born to be bounded to the ephemeral: to be nothing more than a fading silhouette on your foresight.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s