Life goes by, and you with it

I guess I wanted to stop by to tell you about that strange feeling you get when you feel at home.

The roots may be as deep as the soil of one who steps on a distant place for a long time. 

I have a letter to read and little desire to open it. Maybe because of the fear that it will take me out of this soil I consider my home and take me back to those moments in the Mediterranean. Wanting to forgive the version of me that approaches temptations that always resemble memories.

I don't mind anything about the life I lead - I repeat to myself as I revisit the memories that once pained me. Making one or two more wishes to God Time, so that I can forget the one I loved in the very near past. 

I am paralyzed by the meaning of a dance, for there is no language to translate it. It felt like the wind. It unsettles you and leaves you strange for a tenth of a second until your body reacts inherently to the sense of the ridiculous and teaches you that life passes, like the notes you will never feel again at the precise moment they resound against your body. Never again in that place, with the same people, in the present surrounded by circumstances that inundate us.

Like the waves of an inquiring and crashing sea, one that distresses and leaves you empty because of its beauty. The one that makes you so small that you don't want to feel big again; because then you have understood: you are just the orchestration of carbon that dances in a chaotic life. The same one that has led you to that moment. To the rain, to the smiles, to a look between strangers that is indecipherable for those who do not look at each other with the desire that unleashes secrets.

And now, that I feel at home, small and quite a dancer, I wish myself a hug that heals my soul enough to not have to open any letter.