Blank pages.

We were born, met the world, and for the first time, saw faces and the masks the others wanted to show us. We learnt to wear our skin and disguise our soul, while the masks were going and coming in Time.

There were the shortest nights.

Then we learnt to walk alone, and the Life that no one taught us, all those hidden masks, came for free to us. We wandered in the streets around the world, sometimes running fast, sometimes falling down, always raising again. Thus we met love and sex, and we shared our spirit. Those were the vivid masks I have ever seen.

Any kiss, any hug, any orgasm, any suckin' dick... Are just memories by now.

The masks became pale, the footsteps moved away on the streets, I closed my eyes...

There were the longest nights..

And at the end of all those moments in Life, we sleep and awake once again.

I don't think no one's life it's just a stuff of experiences, footsteps, dreams, hopes, and kinds of shit ready to go into void.

Quite the contrary: are hidden and twisted lines waiting to be written and read by someone else.

Do you got some blank pages for me?

Loneliness... Silence... Death.

Why did we come to breath, and walk, just passing trhough crossroads no one ever walked before?

To see the lights that went out too fast, in the depths of melancholy. To feel angst and to burn ashes, To die surrounded by distant memories. Just the time between us, just the never told stories I have written until now.

Ivan Barr.