The secret is getting up early in order to to meet the sun when it’s still shy and the terrible Mrs Summer is still sleeping.
I prefer whispering in the silence, rather than shouting in the noise.
The world is renewed at every sunrise. It’s too late for night owls and too early for common early birds.
It’s a time in brackets. It’s short and private.
I’m whispering also here to an unknown ear, which might be totally inexistent.
I voluntarily make the path to my words more complicated and secluded rather than marking it with the bright lights of social networks.
Probably none will find me here.
Maybe it’s what I want, or maybe I'm ridiculously trying to be selective.
Sunrises are the most bearable moments of summer.
Hamlet would say, with infinite regret, that the rest is noise.
I prefer whispering in the silence, rather than shouting in the noise.
The world is renewed at every sunrise. It’s too late for night owls and too early for common early birds.
It’s a time in brackets. It’s short and private.
I’m whispering also here to an unknown ear, which might be totally inexistent.
I voluntarily make the path to my words more complicated and secluded rather than marking it with the bright lights of social networks.
Probably none will find me here.
Maybe it’s what I want, or maybe I'm ridiculously trying to be selective.
Sunrises are the most bearable moments of summer.
Hamlet would say, with infinite regret, that the rest is noise.
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