Writing is in an inner and frozen travel. Travel is a moving and endless writing. Both intertwine, inseparable and indefinable, in my personal story. They are multifaceted. They are multilingual. They create here a journey.
Writing is a festival. Travel is an art. Both, invisible and indivisible, fuels my soul and heart. They are private. They are secret. They grow fredoom in my life.
I will try then to break their incomplete, partial and arbitrary definitions. Writing and travel are all this for me. And more unspoken words.
Truly, here and now, I don’t want to give them limits through my own dictonary’s definition, even invented and sensitive. Truly, here and now, I want those two inspirations to argue out of my mind, even if they do through my own sensations, in order to travel us somehere in between imagination and our worlds. Truly, here and now, I want those two aspirations to coexist, independent and free, in this virtual space I set for them according to a new paradigm.
Fleeting Wor(l)ds meant to be explored in and out.
Fleeting Wor(l)ds meaning to be writing on a side road sign or a globe dot.
Fleeting Wor(l)ds meant to be thrilled by a word, a picture, a feeling, an instant, a quest or a landscape.
Dissolving Waters
All my life I have felt like a fizzy tablet in a world which felt like an outbursting waterfall.
The question was not was I going to dissolve but when and how many times.
I am sure I have dissolved every other time. But the thought of it, the fear of it, was…
The unspoken
The break up’s longing. The need of saying. Of telling what has been lived. Felt. It doesn’t exist in the relationship. Or so differently. Or so briefly. The heart feels ready to explode every minute. So you kiss. So you embrace. And a few words sometimes fall.
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Fleeting Wor(l)ds 