And then, one day.
I woke without an alarm.
I didn’t think of anything.
I opened my notebook.
I didn’t write a thing.

My head was empty.
Hollow as a beach,
that, with its white sand,
blinds your gaze,
on a hot summer day,

***

I never dreamed
of possible things.
I loved the impossible,
but I didn’t run after it.
That’s how I loved, simply
No sacrifices, no fuss

I loved the impossible,
because I wanted nothingness
I craved the tears, the loneliness.
I searched for the muse.
I found it. I wrote.
I suffered. I cried.
For what?
Of course,… for nothing.

Oh, how nothingness hurts.
It tears your soul apart.
It is like a garden without flowers,
without trees, without greenery.
Yet it is so beautiful.

Ah, just to imagine it:
with red roses,
with firs, with mimosas,
with willows, with violets.

It would be a miracle.
It is a miracle
in my head
a beautiful mirage
that doesn’t exist,
yet it is still beautiful,
painfully so

Empty, just like that
with the shadows of everything
that is not there
could have been,
yet it isn’t.

Jona Cenameri