I can barely see the outline of you. Your face, your body, your soul. You have the colors of my dreams, white and rainbow, sometimes you’re dark. I can distinguish all the sounds coming out from your mouth, I think they are as well represented in shapes and lines and colors. There are rounded words, straight line sentences and transparent concepts. Those last ones are not coming right away, they become clear just as you finish to talk. I didn’t think I could make it. I waited for you to get to the point, but the point became a circle, a room, a universe. Sometimes that point, which is the concept, is simply as complicated as the whole person, sometimes it never comes, so that I get an image, the shape of it and a picture of it without colors, not in black and white, that would give it character, but really with no intention. I look at you and feel like you are talking to me, saying something, I can hear the way you speak, the tone, the rhythm and pauses. But I cannot get the exact letters or words. The pauses are the most interesting, every break want to be an interruption, but I can clearly see the mercury ball continuing its slide on top of the line. Everything is always running on the same path, even when it seems to be cracked, there it is: still building itself from nothing. It is a roller coaster, where, sometimes, to prove you are going in the right direction you need to change your point of view, to go through a death lap. I don’t know how long you’ve been talking, and I don’t know what you are talking about, but I feel your energy and I know it’s good, you are a round-shaped like line that seems to go back to its origin, but if I change the perspective I can clearly see the spiral going on and on and on. It is as the magic spring we used to play with as kids. And your thoughts go on and on until when you don’t need to prove anything else. You pause.
Maybe you asked me something.
Sorry, I didn’t listen to you, I was lost in your soul.
Marino: Indeed this way