"The fucking question about love feelings and oblivion"

The question has never been inherent to the feelings.
Some people call it love.
Others call it passion.
Others don't call it. They Don't call anything.
They live up to when they hear what they have to hear.
Clear and simple
The question has never been inherent to the feelings.
The point of discussion concerns the balance.
The persistence of the basic cause of those feelings.
I loved my parents.
My sisters.
Inter F.C.
Whiskey.
And ... Some tramps met here and there throughout my disrupted life . Tangled up like hair in the early morning
Dot. Stop
Everything else is nothing but an intense collage made of the brightest colors.
With all the pros and cons.
There will never be one more beautiful and bright.
It does not exist anymore, so an unbalanced and discontinuous one.
From the blue ocean to the white ice.
From the bright red to black oblivion.
In my oblivion there is no peace. Who knows that deep down I have, perhaps, never searched.
However, it's not in my forgetfulness, tired of being mocked by a young wanderer.
There is no peace, no response.
There is nothing that was never proved
In my forgetfulness it is all that I have always pursued.
All that attracted me and all that I used to be.
And this terrifies me.
And this is my sentence.
The question has never been inherent to the feelings.
The question has always been handled by humans.

For the translation: a thousand thanks to my friend and colleague Luca Beretta

The End
JL