When I write I carry out a trick.
Sometimes.
Some other times nothing happens.

You run through the words with your eyes
the quiet night
and I’m not there
you rest in the couch
rest in your own exhaustion
after the long day
you read my words
and move your lips
following my thoughts

suddenly

something strikes you
you open your eyes wide
and whisper that phrase

one
I don’t know which one

the one that touches you
the one in which you recognize yourself
the one that binds us
the one in which you realize we are not so different

I wove an idea

and you found me

you whisper it
whisper me

only the night listens to you
and I steal a part of your soul.