I long to know more about you and understand you. Understand what bursts in your head when in the morning you silently hear a world flourishing. I need to know why I lose your gaze the distance when a red sunset interrupts vain conversations and rhetoric. I want to know what's inside you when you remain silent. But the mask hides the horizon and a precise know-how disguises questions with beatings of silent conventionalisms. Is there anything else? Or is the parentheses, of shared dreams, nothing more than an echo of who you were? I'm looking for a way to get close to you with no excuse but to know who you are now that you're disappearing me.
