Who has always had something to say ? Not me.

By Massimo Usai

As I’ve written somewhere else in the past, perhaps during another lifetime, “you don’t always have something to say. You can’t always say something. In the last week, I didn’t have much to say, but the little I had to say, I couldn’t even write it on my blog.”

But from today, I am again in the company of words, feelings, and memories.

I feel I’m in tune again with the blank pages to be filled, like a child who loves to play with stones and is adoring to look at the thousand notes left around, on pieces of paper, on different notebooks of which I am mainly provided.

I must have some problems with agendas, notebooks, notebooks: I buy them in an inconclusive way. If I like the cover, the inner paper, I believe these notebooks, which I often fill with only two or three written pages, because then I see another one and it seems better than the previous one.

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Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

There are half stories, whole stories, attempts at poems, phrases that I often have to try to understand what they are connected to.

Words, judgments, discussions, news, poems… One day I will put them in order, like my photos, which are now thousands.

From today…

Later, but from today, I promise, I want to try to do it myself before it is a task for others when my body will no longer be on this Earth.

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