"Awful truth. Love ends when another arrives. All nights in crying end up in a song. Tears in the face leaving a path, now, one more time in life with kisses and flirtatious glances. At the end of the journey, new lips erase the bad taste of the solitude. An unique situation to start only few minutes in the life. Few moments in the dark of a room with contempt.
An easy way disappear bellow the sky is to leave the normal world to build dreams in other places. The intimate sites when the bodies and that thing that the believers call soul merge into a song with the sounds of lips and frictions. Melodies in pleasure, without words, only with the simple sound of a sigh. A moment without a past in the head, just memories for tomorrow, that they are built today. Darkness and light, silence. And all noise to finish in a dream. As the past love.
Sun. Eyes. The real world is to live it. Wind. Lips. Real bodies is to explore and understand everything that a quivering skin can say more that any words. Sea. Skin. Hear in a sight the song of the love. Sounds containing all dreams. Same if there are not (yet) the night. The only idea to paint a landscape with the beautiful of the nudity, in a body as a canvas. The art of the cruelty to forget an old love, and rebuilt a world in paysage.
Life is cruelly wonderful. Love is a tragedy where the lips and eyes can demonstrate the desire to start another story. Then, when the inspiration arrives, hold on to it, same if at the end of the story, in the next day, in a week or in the ten years, the tears leave a path in the face. Sure, other lips get wet it, and eyes, bodies and voice, they will write other awful song. "
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