This is the translation of the previous chapter... Enjoy it!
Dark. It was dark outside, in the big city, while in a room a girl was meditating on her bed, her arms enlarged to receive the world, and her legs crossed, like the boughs of a tree. Inside her head, a lot of thoughts, chasing and disappearing in the nil of mind, for exploding in a nothing which gave birth to another, little thought. Outside the room, silently, a boy was waiting, with an hand near the door, ready to knock. In his head, hundreds of thoughts sounded like notes of a melody: they were now sad, now happy, now out of time, now sweet. And the first one arrives, gloomy, unexpected. Pause. It was a drum note, deep and severe. And here the door opens, let the flute enter, let allow them to accompany the woman of your dream on a soft pillow of sweet notes, which are going straight to heart. And here's the mandolin replying to the flute a scratched voice, trembling, that explodes immediately in waves of sounds, and the flute shut up, listening to his melody. Now they start again, they melt with the mandolin, now of two beings only one exist, the mouths touch and the eyes close: there's no more need of them to understand the other soul. The final note is unknown, it has been cut away by someone, but we can invent it, anyway.
Dark. It was dark outside, in the big city, while in a room a girl was meditating on her bed, her arms enlarged to receive the world, and her legs crossed, like the boughs of a tree. Inside her head, a lot of thoughts, chasing and disappearing in the nil of mind, for exploding in a nothing which gave birth to another, little thought. Outside the room, silently, a boy was waiting, with an hand near the door, ready to knock. In his head, hundreds of thoughts sounded like notes of a melody: they were now sad, now happy, now out of time, now sweet. And the first one arrives, gloomy, unexpected. Pause. It was a drum note, deep and severe. And here the door opens, let the flute enter, let allow them to accompany the woman of your dream on a soft pillow of sweet notes, which are going straight to heart. And here's the mandolin replying to the flute a scratched voice, trembling, that explodes immediately in waves of sounds, and the flute shut up, listening to his melody. Now they start again, they melt with the mandolin, now of two beings only one exist, the mouths touch and the eyes close: there's no more need of them to understand the other soul. The final note is unknown, it has been cut away by someone, but we can invent it, anyway.