Lavender.
If you think this childhood memory, lavender incense that is consumed and fell exhausted on the parquet. Music by Italian singer-songwriters in the air.
During those years I remember my fear anxious to speak, the tears of my mother and the sprained ankle. I remember I threw the iron chair on the foot because I did not want anyone to listen.
remember quarrels and broken glass, I recall my head drowning in books for groped to build a world where anything that I saw or heard happen.
remember too many times parents leave the front door and every time he was a ruthless abandon fiercely that pierced his chest.
In those moments I lit incense and lavender this comforted me, because the smell was fighting with the gentle force that no one could breathe in the house and was the only way I knew to wait long stuck his face against the floor dying to watch those grains of magic dust that was also a secret hope, who were also wings to get away from the kingdom of lies.
I built my life on those stupid and useless granules. So people
always turn away from me, because nobody, nobody can live in balance on a pile of dust, even though he knows of lavender.
The problem is that I continue to stick his face to the floor hoping to return.
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