Sometimes it's a weird arrangement,
And I think it's all going to be fine,
And I think it's not going to be fine.
But I know it'll be what will be
For we created every chances,
Within every choice.

I know there's a special connection
But what does that stands for
In such different spaces we occupy,
Such different futures ahead,
Such different goals?
We're left with a warmth goodbye
And exhilarating memories.
We have more in our pasts
Than in what's to come.
Probably.
And that's ok.

We'll still have a connection.
We'll still have contact. Probably.
We'll have written part of each other stories
And that's enough.

Our freedoms have outspoken
Plans and flesh and comfort.
But the first aim
Is to seek happiness.
At times, that meant together.
Now it means something else
I'm still trying to figure out.

To be better, always.
That's what I wish for both of us.

If there is a void in me
It's because there is a "me".
It's because there is something being
That once wasn't.
Because every hole
Is just something
Made of something else.

Emptiness is necessary
To be fulfilled,
It's the space of being,
The waiting possibly,
The tiredness that makes us available,
To remove my ego and bring me you,
To approach me to what I see,
For when I see, I'm plain.

The nothingness is the permission,
The origin,
It's too be naked and protected
Of everything that can be "me"
And completeness never allowed.

Five years is my longest season.
I don't know what it is
I keep running from.

Have I hated roots so badly
I can't afford to try it?
Have I been exposed to such opportunities
I prefer to move?
Am I just curious
Or I just get bored?

I do learn a lot
But I only do little with it:
I survive and I delight.
I feel like I drop seeds everywhere
But I fail to nurture them.

What's new for me to try?
An interested phone call,
A Spartan life,
A season as a monk,
A money seeking job
Or a volunteer work?

Every answers lie
On the other side of the fear.

The mind keeps pushing body
Higher, farther, stronger,
Until it is resisted by the impacts
Of a harsh sun,
A draught,
Insensitive words,
That will mold, break and crack.

What's to be done
Is just a choice:
Camouflage the fragile collage
Or to stick it all with a golden glue.

To hide or to expose.
Our selection construct us.

I never leave
Without an intent
To come back.

I step strongly
So I can find my footprints,
I look carefully the landscape,
The coordinates, the relief,
Even the sounds.

But sometimes all traces fade,
There's no point of knowing coordinates
If one doesn't know where he is
Rather than oneself.
The only thing I know:
I'm here, wherever I am.

Even lost
Sometimes I'm surprised
With a glance of a memory;
Maybe I've been here
Ten or twenty years ago,
Maybe it resembles somewhere else.
Still comforting, though.
Memories and returns
Calm me,
Ease my anxiety,
Brings a kind of hope
That has no explanation at all,
An exhilarating and dangerous hope
That keeps me forward
With the expectation that,
Somewhere ahead I'll meet
A future long passed.

I am full of ideas
But too tired to build them.
Ideas to save the world,
Ideas to get rich,
Ideas to have time in abundance,
Ideas to be remembered forever.

I am stuck
In day to day tasks,
In faking a learning,
In accomplishing requirements for a good life,
In the fear of not be self sufficient.

Will those ideas slowly die
Or will they pump me out of the quicksand?
They can only be
What I allow them to.

There once was a lake
Where it is now a cracked soil.
I pumped everything I could
Now nothing is left.

I hope for the rain
For I am too weak to seek water.
I hope to keep living
Despite the living conditions.