Outside the Time

"Outside the world is gray. The perfect afternoon to rest naked, together or alone, in an absolute ignorance of the others walking in the city and their concerns of tomorrow and how the seconds pass from a line to another or how the two points on the clock flicker. In any case is time over minutes. Just hours. Intimate moments is about a count of sighs, where the breath is more important of any word or any silhouette. It is possible, so, to be in a conversation with himself, at same time that in other universe (or in other bed), in silence people ignores the gray of the street outside. 

Time teaches to everyone and each one we are a heavy student with the only certainty to be defeated by him.  Nothing matters more than the space of time which is marked by the absence of a conscience of consequences or timing. A song could mark these minutes but in sooth, just it count the interval between silences. Time is a victorious god, with all faces to represent faith and misgiving. However, some humans seek rebellion and they arrive at a naked evening in Sunday, for them, Monday is different that after-tomorrow, without any necessity to take account of the number of the day or the name for a simple consecutive hour.

Gray arrives black. Some instants to appear lights in the city. Dreams can burn and the breath disappear at moment when the conscience of the approaching Monday invades the mind. Lips and looks are the same and the ideas are a chain of words without any sense. Night, outside this part of the world sleeps and all alarms are on, ready to interrupt the leak. Only the lovers are still naked however the solitary have already been covered. The cold inside him is sufficient to search any way to rest in live. 

Four seconds and the time following the rhythm, no more sighs, the breath calls dreams and the concerns of the agenda are in the mind. It is better - people said - than having the frustrations before sleep. Outside the world, the argument of the story is a consecutive love and hate persecution. But, who to the other? Tic, tac, tic tac, the time is here and the lights of the city are sufficient to illuminate all that we ignores in the daylight. In four seconds, all story can be recreated in a word, but, when the time is over, it is not question of numbers, dates, now the time is questions of breath."