🌹💛An obvious dialogue, alone with myself, imagining that I had reflected in the mirror the face of that Person who would have understood, if anything had existed ...
"After all, they are just an image that writes things for granted, a voice that goes beyond its material context.
And the same goes for anyone who is not measurable according to the canons of tangibility.
Evanescences remain as ends in themselves, which vanish when the screen is turned off, which have no real connection even if you wanted to.
This is the beauty and the ugliness of the metamondo, it applies to everyone, and we are not an exception.
It is normal for this to happen.
The real worry arises when you trust and entrust to this ghost without ties, with dreams and with reality.
Then the pains, the disappointments, the sadness arise. If the past is such because it never comes back, we never forget that it taught something, to be treasured.
So I write and do it with my heart in my hand, always.
Do you see? I too decline in personal, I too become real for a moment, overcoming this invisible barrier that stands between the serious and the facetious.
I write what I feel and what I feel. I remain in my overall sphere. I do not expose, I do not interfere, I do not invade spaces other than mine.
But in a world of lies and appearances, the sincerity I put on appears false.
And this allows me to be sincere, true, real, profound, without risking hurting myself. Because no one will ever know that what I communicate in my travel diary is true.
Nobody knows, except those who know me.
And here, in the metamondo, still no person knows about me, knows me, knows how I really am.
Still no person knows what I feel when I express myself, and knows how to interpret what I am not saying, the true content in a container for everyone, but which few, very few, know how to open.
Still none ... but one day ... Who knows! "💛💖💗💕💓💘💞💝
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