The dew falls from trees, it's delicate on the body, mixing with drops of sweat that fall and soak clothes.
Kilometers running, without a destination, just running while thoughts run in mind too, fast…irreproachable.
The Requiem of Mozart gives them a music in the violence of his notes and among them it catches a poem.
Wild Nights – Wils Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile – the Winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor – Tonight –
In Thee!
(Emily Dickinson – 1861)
Faces passing in eyes, they're all so different, but there's just one which is sharp. That person is always in mind.
While physical pain burns all over the body. But still…running!
Time is not going to stop, it runs over Life. Life runs over the way.
Home after home, just run to avoid them; person after person, fast greatings, without stopping.
Run, run, run! Daydreaming and thinking with music, song after song , a praise of Love…the one that wins, the one that dies!