Sinister: I will never let you see me undressed

[s.santabarbara at xxx.uk]

Is not my cup of tea. And is it caffeine or me?


I live like a ghost, sneaking around corners, leaving no trace or memory. I move
the dust on the road when walking to the tube station, sitting by strangers to
which I am a stranger too. They won’t know I’ve there, I won’t know they’ve
been there.  The dust will fall back in the place it was before I’d let my
footstep, ready to me moved by someone else’s feet. Let’s write a sentence on
the sand. Let’s steal it from someone else’s book. Chances are it can be
remembered then.
I live like a ghost and I sneaking around corners. Like the fog in the autumn,
in the field. It disappears with as the sun rise. It disappears and even if it
will come back on the day after, no one will notice. One just walk trough the
fog without bothering. Just a sense of annoyance, need to slow down your car,
look around more carefully, but then will be over, and the fog’s forgiven. I
can trace my sentence in the dense cloud of smog, and the wind will cancel
them, because no one is there to listen to them. And won’t probably remember
them anyway. Rightly.
I live like a ghost because the castles made of playing cards are not strong
enough to hold the weight of a proper human being. But still can sustain
something which is more similar to an immaterial entity. But those are only
fragile shelters from the monsoon, and will be swept away, although are so easy
to rebuilt, if one decide to ignore the warning. And the rain can’t harm a
ghost.
	And there is silence in this place. There’s a silence which is nearly unreal.
Unreal as a ghost is. And last for days and days. Things around here don’t make
sounds, and can’t listen to them. Things around here all look quite vain.
I have lived like a ghost for too many years, and have realised just right now,
how insignificant all that has been. And if I’ll see myself in the mirror, is
that the one would have liked to see?
Sure I’ll walk to my death because I know I’ll never feel that way again.
Sure today is bound to be less boring then tomorrow.
At least there is a consolation, the day I’ll disappear, no one will miss me.
If I’ll burn or draw, won’t make any difference.
And when you have no one, no one can hurt you, sure, but who’ll be by your side
then?
	A ghost, might be.


Take care
	Love (if you can have some)
		Stefano


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