Amounts of time I've played a song, or I've said a certain phrase. Times I've chosen green over yellow, or coffee over tea. Some moments I've ran instead of just staying still...

A record of food steps, wrong foot steps, but each one a different step to count. Times I've chosen to sealed my lips instead of speaking my mind, so many times that I can't count them anymore... Just like a foolish collection I'm ashamed of. Records of fails but lived moments, mine more than the air itself, records of my decisions... like something to be proud of.

Like those I have others, and they come often to me... Clear and straight movements I can't say I don't recognize, but I let them in... add them to my wall of scores, thinking how many I can still fit in here, and how each one makes me feel.

This last one I can still feel on my skin, the breath on my back and neck, the touch and the sounds of sleeping this close... Nothing in front of this new addition to my score of moments that came without thinking straight or at least, without the intention of defining at all... just living, adding and living.

I struggle with them, as I stare at this room of collections, but my figure seems to know better than what my mind tries hard to understand... I must surrender to them, and assume the fact that this is it and nothing more, this is what I create and what fills my world. These moments, these souls, these stories I love to describe in my head and in these writings... like this last lovely idea of belonging to a body and beautiful soul.

I've walked a few miles, and I've drawn a few pictures... as any other scores I own... Tonight I surrender to this one in particular, because I know there's no other way to go to, and no other perspective I'd like to live through.

P.S.: do yourself a favor, and just listen...

Lyrics by Coldplay

Smoke is rising from the houses
People burying their dead
I ask somebody what the time is
But time doesn't matter to them yet

People talking without speaking
Trying to take what they can get
I ask you if you remember
Prospekt, how could I forget?

Drums, here it comes
don't you wish that life can be as simple
As fish swimming round in a barrel?
When you've got the gun

Oh when I run, here it comes
We're just two little figures in a soup bowl
Trying to get to any kind of control
But I wasn't one

Now here I lie on my own in a separate sky
Here I lie on my own in a separate sky
I don't wanna die on my own here tonight
But here I lie on my own in a separate sky

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