Speaking to the moon about us,
about when words still had meaning,
and we traded dreams
like breaths to survive,
sailing like two sailors
through the deep sadness
in each other's eyes.
Then sunset came for us too,
the horizon of colors
gave way to reality,
while a nocturne
echoes over the remains of memories.
I counted the silences,
the distance,
the days left unsaid.
We slowly lost each other,
like losing the habit of looking at the sky.
And now I know,
some words are born
from the same madness
that burns them out,
and they remain there,
with no voice anymore,
weighing like illusions
that don’t even ask to be believed.