Excerpts from a lost diary

Everything that one day you told me remained worn out in the wind and, having nothing to do, now I stumble upon little stones with parts of your name on.

If everything were only light, if when walking in the city we did not find misterious shades, dark black shadows which contrast with the light we sometimes see, how important would laughter be, who would care about love, what kind of triumph would we find when feeling the warmth of a body beside us?

Who locked the door? who with their hands, aware of it all, wanted to break up my wings, to mutilate the dream of my getting you. Your pale hand, so weak to grasp the reins of your own fate, did not hesitate when signing my sentence to oblivion, humiliation and death.