sorry, I have nothing to say and I do not even feel an obligation to myself chichessia or to say something intelligent or sympathetic. Indeed I do not feel even smarter and much less sympathetic.
maybe I'm quiet, yes indeed, I'm quiet and I enjoy the silence that emanates from the smoking rubble, or imperceptible little noise of beating wings of a butterfly.
I claim the right not to have anything to say.
also want to add that sometimes it's even nice to have nothing to say because when you're feeling better shut up the voices that come from the world.
only the world is never quiet, but I can be quiet and I like that.
in fact, I am not writing in silence but the silence, which is almost a speech, but quietly, in a faint voice.
space / time mental granted to those who have nothing to say not even grow the the most common flowers, weeds grow, those medicines. the sky to those who have nothing to say is cloudless and the wind does not pull. the sky is still, sedated by the silence that the wadding and shine.
the land of those who have nothing to say is bleak, but do not expect the miracle of rain. is happy with her "brullitudine" to ward off boredom and giggles.
sometimes have nothing to say it's beautiful. is like taking home a library but do not have books.
have nothing to say the word means not even pay for our pain, it means slamming the door in the face of joy.
stand still for a moment, measured in a matter of seconds, inhale and exhale and then go back path to tread some new or used, in the middle of the leaves sprayed from the romantic light of this early fall.
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