Comes the smell.
Memory is burning fires.
Or just lighted the chimneys.
I remember it …
The memory has come to me?
I put on the floor underframe and brashes…
I remember something…
I remember something that does not exist in this world.
I brought from the balcony the plastic and rags …
It is not from my love, not of my memories.
You have a time to make the angels, do you remember?
I am so frozen …
I miss so much …
Blue world near the door, they came,
They are outside,
They are waiting for you.
Elena Aseeva “A Diary. Uomo Introspettivo”
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* Other texts are here