Ci sono luoghi che sono come fotografie: sono stati scenari diome ti unici ed irripetibili. Basta guardarli e risenti i profumi che hai respirato, voci di chi avevi accanto e il calore di chi hai abbracciato.
The beach is hammered with sun shells and sand dollars, and we tiptoe out in jubilant reverie, hammered too, and for one reason or another (the riptides of our consciousness) we land always with treasures underfoot, a tandem wince and tilt until the crunch becomes boring as failures do
by the water’s edge we wish for smoother weeds, and rakish you entreat your kingdom for a vacuum, and we laugh ourselves sober as a dyson coming down the dune to wet and sundry on the sands as some beached creatures do
we have stiffed our way forward from that day til now, when ripping into crust and soaking it in juices you insist into your plate I must have walked that beach with someone else, and man before that bite I would have sworn for all of time that it was you
I wanna travel with you. I wanna lay and walk with you on the beach, watching the sunset, kiss you and hear the sound of waves. I wanna visit hand in hand cities with you. I wanna take 1000 pictures with you at the prettiest places of the world.