Casa Robino

You have either accomplished something,or have erased yourself-Lubomir Yanevmyths unravelling.Waking with the eyelids of the wings of migrating birds - rested after a long travel. France once more. Here, where it all began at the end of last summer.Turning twenty five took something out of me. Left it roasting in the sun in Italy. It didn't hit me 'til then, but I felt it coming. I felt its breathe upon my lips, whispering inaudible words. Like all the other times. But this turning felt heavy, as if the chance to be ridiculous and foolish was no longer as saintly any more. Dead time builds graves inside of you.I begin to long for words again. As if they had departed for a long journey with suitcases and drunk with the grapes of tuscany, for everyone loses themselves there. We didn't last long there, either. All and everything had a screw loose and mansions filled my bones with the sighs of maids and the hiss of lizards baking in the sun. A brothel for organic, freshly grown sadness. No preservatives. Florence soothed, but was not the madness I so pined for. Everything exquisite but conventional. Days on the road with few rides. Days with our bags growing into our backs, as if one and the same. Lifeless weeks followed by a slow, gradual awakening, for both of us. Deep tenderness after weeks anticipating the end, like I do with dusk. This long confusion, and acceptance of it. Things will go as they will and the days will trot on by, slobbering all into my hole ridden shoes. You are here and that is courage itself. Experience carves you out. Eating immense amounts of chocolate, for sweetness is vital in these times. There is great wine in these lands and soft breathing beside me. On y dans le merde but you are blessed a thousand times within it.