I don't know if the fact
of being met really means
that we have found each other.
Something in the air announces
a storm that is advancing.
Nevertheless the sky is perfectly serene.
Sometimes I read on your face
the same imprint of my fear
and in your eyes the shiver of the time
that will come to pass.
But none of us has still uttered the word
that makes the soul tremble.
Yet for a while I have felt
the presence of a silence in the middle of us.
That strange one that is accompanied by our footsteps.
And he has followed us as a troublesome shade
piercing a thorn in the heart.
In reality something is withering deep inside…
Surely one day one of us will say that word.
We won't even say goodbye
and not even try to explain what happened among us.
So from now on we know how something
that would not have born is about to die.
And we feel that to be found rather means
that we have lost each other…