In adolescence there was all the love that made me want to experiment; you were the ideal person. You submerged yourself in my waters too, learning to play. One night under the Moon, like the best occasion to celebrate. Although you used to say: "That the Moon was only surviving these days." When your face became someone else, but in your eyes, I could always find a star.

That is the story of the experiment that once went out of place. In which the Moon knew the task that had to be completed.

Then the journey began with the four of us, in a photo like a good postcard. All looking straight ahead, in a truck on the back bed. Where, if time is not deceiving, all kinds of stories were told. Such as the girl who liked to sing "Nothing else matters." Or the talks that were overheard while waiting to learn about someone else.

But a notebook can handle everything. Because every story always has a beginning and thus also an end. Where the deepest Diary is one that is written with the ink in between (the half-truth). And only then can the Moon's task be finalized, to then meet in front of the white stairs that take us up and outside the threshold, where she is waiting to embrace you and right there to shout:

"Western moon, I'm coming Home!"... because I have just delivered the assignment.

In adolescence there was all the love that made me want to experiment; you were the ideal person. You submerged yourself in my waters too, learning to play. One night under the Moon, like the best occasion to celebrate. Although you used to say: "That the Moon was only surviving these days." When your face became someone else, but in your eyes, I could always find a star.

That is the story of the experiment that once went out of place. In which the Moon knew the task that had to be completed.

Then the journey began with the four of us, in a photo like a good postcard. All looking straight ahead, in a truck on the back bed. Where, if time is not deceiving, all kinds of stories were told. Such as the girl who liked to sing "Nothing else matters." Or the talks that were overheard while waiting to learn about someone else.

But a notebook can handle everything. Because every story always has a beginning and thus also an end. Where the deepest Diary is one that is written with the ink in between (the half-truth). And only then can the Moon's task be finalized, to then meet in front of the white stairs that take us up and outside the threshold, where she is waiting to embrace you and right there to shout:

"Western moon, I'm coming Home!"... because I have just delivered the assignment.