Gipsy Heart

He is the heart torn by injuries.
He is submerged by love. By hate too.
His heart is a frame unfolded, vibrant, skin stretching into space in the manner of blackened wings where the light is enclosed.
He has the courage of those who look ahead, the strength of those whose heart are open.

He see so far ahead... sometimes to live is unbearable.

She read in these eyes the pain of life, injuries that leave the skin marked by the innocence that is fading.

The pain of living.

The passion burns him, he walks on its own ashes.

His eyes spoke of an ideal where suffering is a test which gives the taste for simple things, the basics.
Her gaze is that of a broken child who can still feel the power of daily flow circulating around him and he knows he's just a part of that.
He is a child in her arms, a man when he is merged with the one he loves.

He is the man of one wife.

His mind is ordered, his mind is shaped, fascinated by the emotional shock that make the landscape, out of sight.
She is facing the same direction.

His balance holds in his hands he puts into his own, day after day he's building what they wanted to remove him before even trying something.


He has the power of those who still dream.

He is the beauty of silence transparent when his lips whisper that it doesn't say.

He is crazy, it is wise.

It is loneliness that breaks the solitude.

He is the friend, he is the lover, he is the man.

He is the one who looks in escaping, yet entirely with her.

He is the one who refuses limits.


He is the man I love and my heart trembles.