The instant it reaches you
The instant it reaches you
Is never when you expect it.
It is the moment when everything stops....
And you begin to see.
English
The moment it reaches you
Is never when you expect it.
It's when everything stops...
And you begin to see.
There was a silence you had never heard
first.
It was not empty: it pulsed, as if something
Would hold his breath with you.
The walls seemed closer together, the
thinner floor, as if underneath there
Was another room, hidden, alive.
Every step you hadn't taken, every word
you hadn't said, it was there, compressed
in the air.
He brushed your skin without touching you, but you
Did you know.
You knew it was going to happen.
And then - without warning - it came to you.
on.
Not a noise, not a face: a presence.
So close to feel the heat, so intense
To erase time.
He was no longer a shadow.
He was here.
What you have seen no longer leaves you
📍 Excerpt (ITALIAN):
What you saw never left.
It still inhabits you, silently.
📍 Excerpt (ENGLISH):
What you saw never truly left.
It still lives inside you, in silence.
What you have seen no longer leaves you
You thought it was just an image.
But she stayed.
Not out.
In.
It took shape in dreams.
It changed the sound of your words.
Now you move slowly.
As if every step could awaken her.
In the time that remains locked inside the walls
Time has not passed.
He stayed there,
Nailed to a wall that no one is looking at.
To remind you that silence can be eternal.
Even when you pretend not to feel it.
Time never moved on.
It stayed there,
nailed to a wall no one dares to look at.
Reminding you that silence can last forever.
Even when you pretend not to hear it.
There are rooms you didn't remember.
Not out of lack, but out of defense.
Something stopped there.
A breath, a word held back,
A cry that never found a way out.
Yet the time remained there,
nailed to the wall,
Like a crack that can't be seen
But you can feel it every time you come back.
Although you no longer know why.
The rooms where you didn't scream
There are rooms you don't forget.
Not because of what was said,
But for all that you kept silent.
The ones where you wanted to scream,
But you let silence speak for you.
There are rooms you never forget.
Not for what was said,
But for everything you kept inside.
The ones where you wanted to scream,
but let silence speak instead.
There are rooms you walked through in silence.
You could have screamed. But you shut your mouth.
You let the pain seep into the
walls, that the heart would crumble into a
silent grammar.
You didn't want to disturb.
You didn't want to look weak.
You didn't want to lose someone.
So you lost you.
Now those rooms inhabit you.
They speak in dreams.
They resonate in the bodies you touch,
In the sentences you don't say,
In every gesture that denies you without reason.
Yet, somewhere,
there is still a point of time
To which you can return.
Not to explain.
But to shout.
Finally.
With all the voice you've been holding back.
At the point where the noise vanishes
When all is silent, something begins.
Soundless.
But true.
At the point where the noise vanishes,
there is no silence left.
Something pulsing remains.
Underskin.
Sotto voce.
Subtraction.
It cannot be said,
cannot be touched,
But if you close your eyes
you recognize it.
It is there
beginning
What you don't know yet.
When no one knocks
When the door remains closed, something still moves. In silence, beside you. Without asking anything.
There are evenings
In which the door remains closed,
not because no one comes
But because you don't want to open anymore.
And in that dense silence
something happens.
As if time
would sit next to you
Without asking for anything.
What remains even after
Not everything fades away. Some things settle on you like fine dust - and stay there. Even now.
Not everything goes away.
There are voices that stay on
Like fine dust.
A gesture. A tone.
A word spoken too softly.
You didn't understand what he meant,
But you heard it anyway.
And still now,
you carry the sound with you.
Things I don't say
There are words that seek no sound. They live in silence, there where only you hear them.
Things I don't say
I keep them in the back of my voice.
Not because he doesn't know
how to tell her.
But why sometimes
saying is not enough.
And certain truths
don't want sound.
They want to stay
There where only you feel them.
There where you never look.
There where you never look, something lives on. Silently, but powerfully.
Not everything asks for light.
Not everything allows itself to be found.
There are things that live in the shadows,
not out of fear -
But by choice.
Things that don't shine,
But they resist.
That they do not shout,
But they remain.
No need to illuminate every corner.
Sometimes you just have to stay on the edge.
In silence.
Respectfully.
Some truths do not knock.
They do not explain themselves.
They do not ask for anything.
They are there.
They are waiting for you to hear them.
And if you don't see them.
it's okay.
You are not here to understand. You are here to cross over.
I'm not telling you who I am. I'm just opening a door for you. Not explaining. Just opening a door.
I'm not telling you who I am. I'm just opening a door for you. Not explaining. I'm just opening a door.
I'm not telling you who I am.
I'm just opening a door for you.
There are places where words stop.
Beyond that, only the threshold remains: a point of
passage, of listening, of waiting.
This space was not created to explain.
It was born to suggest, to evoke, to let you
feel - not that you understand.
No manifesto. No biography.
No strategy.
Tracks only. Footprints left on surfaces
silent.
If you are here, maybe you are looking for something.
Maybe you just crossed a threshold.
Welcome.
This space was not created to explain.
It was born to suggest, to evoke, to let you...
And if you don't understand-it's okay.