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[ink-on-paper]

Star-Crossed (Eng)

Life is too grey when you can’t live it. Longing.

You walk the path of pain, shared with all humanity, tied to the hidden truth. I envy you. Secret words were born from those nights. I wish I could be part of your private world.

Each hour stretches the distance further. Duties lock up emotions in iron cages.

Can you see me? Can you forgive me? Forgive me for not choosing you in my actions the way I already do in my heart. I miss you.

Emptied of everything, blank-eyed. Pain goes unseen, ignored, so it has no voice, no face. Because I can't bear even one more second. I wish to relive the past we shared.

Trapped among the stars, at least we share the same sky. Forgotten by many, but revealed to me through you the celestial sphere that could only ever be yours. Each moment, my gaze finds it, and my thoughts look for you in the clouds, in the wind.

~Ecar

[ink-on-paper]

Star-crossed

Troppo grigia la vita senza poterla vivere.

Mancanza.

Vivi la via del dolore, la condividi con l'umanità, connesso alla realtà nascosta, ti invidio. Parole segrete nascono da quelle sere, vorrei far parte del tuo mondo privato.

La distanza aumenta ogni ora, lontananza che non si placa. Doveri che blindano le emozioni.

Mi vedi? Mi perdoni? La mia colpa di non poterti preferire nelle azioni come quanto giá faccio nel cuore. Mi manchi.

Svuotato di tutto, neutro nello sguardo, il dolore é solo non visto, ignorato cosí non ha voce, né volto. Perché non è sopportabile un attimo in piú, rimpianto é il passato condiviso.

Confinato tra le stelle, condividiamo almeno lo stesso cielo, ignorato per anni e da te rivelato, la sfera celeste che non puó che essere tua. Ogni attimo lo sguardo mio la contempla e il pensiero ti ricerca tra le nuvole, nel vento.

~Ecar

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Mi dispiace

Siedo a questo tavolo e non riesco a far uscire le parole, si incastrano tra loro. Perché liberarle vorrebbe dire guardarle in faccia e questo non posso permettermelo.

Mi sento affogare tra quel che devo e voglio fare. Cosí reprimo il rimpianto fino a diventare di cera. Tutto è grigio e intorpidito, perché se risvegliassi ció che é celato non riuscirei a concentrarmi sul recidere le catene. L'inerzia dell'animo è sovrana delle mie giornate.

Io devo, trascinato dagli eventi che devo sostenere. Delusione eguale a reclusione, l'implicito messaggio é scolpito nella mia memoria. E intanto resto indietro.

Tutto deve essere neutro, alienarmi da me stesso perché fa male. Ciò che fa piú male è allontanarmi da te. Vedo chi è riuscito con molto meno sforzo e lo invidio, perché non é il mio talento.

Vorrei poter stare con te per ore, da soli, girare per la città notturna o lasciare che il silenzio riempi la stanza. I nostri momenti sono quelli che danzano davanti ai miei occhi quando i pensieri sono lasciati liberi di viaggiare. Ma sono incatenato a regole.

~Ecar

~Romrir

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Letter to the Hero

Oh my dear hero or heroine, 

I’m so sorry I'll never learn your name. And I'm so so really sorry you had to live this life. My only hope is this has been the path you’ve chosen and not the will of others imposed on you. 

You won’t find me, so don’t bother searching. No, I'm not hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; no, I'm not in another hiding spot, laughing at your mistake and no, you’ve not arrived too late. I’m just dead. Be happy, please, you’ve won.

Why, you’re probably asking now. I don’t know what they have told you about  me, what my reputation is, but if I have to guess, probably I'm the evil witch who stole the dream of immortality. I’m sorry, again, that you all had to follow me on this absurd quest. 

Reborn, our species has always been able to be reborn, to live again and again and experience the beauty of existence. But I was broken, I didn't remember only the faint sensations and distant voices; everything was so vivid and dark. 

Who could I blame for the murder of my mother, when that happened centuries ago, with now my mom next to me, reading bedtime stories? Who could assist me, share the pain of wars fought for reasons to me still unknown? How could I endure another life? 

I know I shouldn't have and I'm not asking you to forgive me. With what courage could I ask you that, since I don't even know how many lives disappeared, and how many did I steal from you.

Look on the desk, near this letter there should be a book. Open it on page 538, there is the spell I used. Bring it to the mages at the castle you came from, or to someone who knows magic, and I'm sure they will be able to reverse its effects. I also regret not having crafted an antidote for my egoistic actions, but the voices of the dead are so loud and all my tears still aren’t enough to silence them. 

I think I'll be happy now. If you feel bad for me, please don’t be and if you hate me, I think I deserve it. You’re free too, go live your life, I'll pray it’ll be successful. 

I’m sorry my pain consumed my people

Goodnight, Your villainess, Neyla

[ink-on-paper]

Excessive response

Walking in the room

Eyes on me

Following

Outside, people

Together, an amalgamation

My breath got cut

I'm on the front line

Something is wrong

But everyone is smiling

We're happy

So why am I trembling?

I wish for pain

For a reason to be afraid

For someone to hurt me

So I'll be allowed to bite

Or I'll just be forever

terrified of life

~Muhan

[ink-on-paper]

Shards of Past Reflections: vol.2 act.2

And he went to the bathroom. He couldn't tell what he did wrong this time. He always messed up anyway. The fucking rules would change again tomorrow, or next hour, or next year. Why bother?

Trapped in the mask thay made him wore since he was born. His face was tight and hurted.

Hurted

HurTEd

HURTED

How was he supposed to just live? Survive? In this world where everyone talked in riddles, while he just wanted someone to share his collection of shiny buttons with.

What could he do? He would never fit in. He sees it now. So clearly it hurted. Again, pain. He wanted it to stop.

To stop it all, he should...

He went back to class. They were laughing again, an ugly sound that made his brain bleed a little. Because he could never understand. And it was cold loneliness. Forever, ice pits.

At home he looked in the mirror. The stiches to streched, skin deformed under the strenght. The little threads were so thightly knot they made moving painfull, as they threatened to cut his face.

But with a crow out of his window, he knew he couldn't wear this mask anymore. He lifted his blade.

Slowly and easly, it broke the stiches, and he lifted the skin. The water became red, and the white porcellain of the sink will be forever stained. He revealed the hidden face underneath. Bloody and disgusting.

He could never live without an identity.

He found with the hand his beautiful mask, rapresentation of him. What he hidden under layers of lies and acts and theatre. Filled with hot glue, he placed it on his muscles. It hurted, but it tasted like freedom. He gave up this life.

As he walked away, to meet the crow outside, his body fell to the floor. He went through the thick glass and flew in the dark blue sky.

His heart still longed for the warm caress he knew deads could never receive.

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Shards of Past Reflections: vol.2 act.1

The boy sat in the back of the class. His friends were laughing with him. Of him? Has he said something wrong again? His face was itchy, uncomfortably smiling. Laughing again? They've surely made another joke somewhere.

His gaze shifted out of the window. A large crow looked at him, before flying away. He followed it, instinctively. But he was stopped by the thick glass. A modern cage for illogical animals. And they laughed. Why did he went to the window?

On his way home, he jumped to avoid hurting some friends, a group of ants. His humans friends prefered walking straight, they didn't even looked down.

The crow was on the school's gate, the next day. It let go of a little feather. The boy picked it up, the dark pigment matching his hair nearly perfectly. A new one for his project.

He never listen in class. Instead, he craft. A beautiful, detailed crow mask, similar to those used by pest's doctors, made by real crow's feathers. His friends joked, he'll become a crow one day. Hell, he was already more similar to to the damn bird that to a human.

His face itched more. In the bathroom mirror he checked his stiches. Invisible stiches that only he has or could see. They kept his face in place. Thin threads knotted behind his head. A mask of flesh, to make him human, like everyone else.

But he wasn't one of them, human. He couln't be a real one. He just pretended to know and soon or later they would call his bluff. But he also couln't leave. He loved them, to be loved he needed to be just like them. He needed their acception.

Oh, how much he loved them.

And they fought. Why was he angry for nothing? Why has he done that? It was so painfully obviously disrespectful. Couldn't he just behave normally?

Hypersensible little crow boy, overreacted again.

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Hello my friends! 👋💓

The situation in Gaza is worsening day by day, and my family is still struggling in very tough conditions. 😔💔

I only have $200 left to reach the $8500 goal, and I hope to achieve it today. 🇵🇸😢

I sincerely thank everyone who has supported and stood by us during this time. 💗🍉

https://gofund.me/abbc2759

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

If you can, please donate

Otherwise, keep reposting, keep sharing, their situations won't be ignored

[ink-on-paper]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

We live in a dystopic world.

Unfortunately i'm unable to donate, but i can still spread their words.

If you can, please help them or contribute to make sure their voices can reach those who can. We can make a difference, together.

[ink-on-paper]

Paesaggio d'ottobre

Nebbia padrona di ottobre, piano si impossessa del mondo, entrando nelle case e negli animi.

Un leggero velo che scorre dagli alberi, delicatamente si appogge sulla pianura. La realtá, cosí oscurata, è lontana.

Tutto pare immobile. Bloccato nel tempo dal freddo vapore autunnale. Luci vicine e lontane hanno la stessa intensitá, tutto è ignoto, oltre il limite del visibile.

La chiarezza viene a mancare, perso in un labirinto senza strade. Piccola bolla sicura, staccata dal mondo, il cielo non può raggiungere i suoi abitanti.

Infinito paesaggio, si slancia nell'orizzonte ormai cancellato. Al di lá nascono possibilitá che rimarranno incolte, intoccate, non trovate.

Staccato dall'umanitá, nebbia perenne nel mio animo. Regole di fumo che gestiscono l'uomo, inafferrabili.

Il freddo raggiunge le ossa, sole e abbandonate nella foresta di pini. Nebbia scende sul viso ormai scomparso. Cielo griglio al calare del sole incornicia gli alberi dormienti, indifferenti.

Sensazioni rapite dal freddo umido dell'aria visibile lasciano un corpo vuoto disteso sul suolo.

La nebbia si rivolge a me con parole distanti e dolci. Irraggiungibile, aggredita, capisce il mio dolore. La calda crudeltá umana è curata dalla sua fredda carezza.

~Ecar

~Muhan

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Magister

A maze of thoughts is the structure of my brain. You walk around thinking you know everything about the order inside.

You believe you're so right. You believe you've already grown and become the best version of yourself. So you teach others. And you're cruel doing so.

Tears run from my eyes as your leading hand rougly pulls me without care. Your actions leak kidness so your help is aching pain.

You believe that you've learnt what you need to know, outgrown your disabilities, that mirror mines. But you prove me daily that it's simply not true. You help me and I bleed.

We're so close and similar, but you blame me for my weakness. I'm lazy after all. Too lazy to be just like you, better, stronger, cruel.

You wish to help me because you care. I wish you'll spare me cause i can't take it anymore.

It seems you've cracked the code of our society, but still you don't recognize my hurt.

I'm socially unfit, and I know what is like to not feel empathy, but you don't even try to develop sympathy.

~Ecar

[ink-on-paper]

Should I try to write something in my native language? (Italian)

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The so well known concept of Time

Time is fluid and it escapes the tight grip of its pursuers.

Many can say it's clear and untouchable water, running in the river of life, draining itself in the death sea.

And us on a miserable boat, trying to dominate the nature forces, to impone our will on the immense power of its waves. At the end, the only thing remaining would be the wood that accepted its destiny, broken, foating on water.

But time is also burning fire. Rapidly it's born and rapidly it dies. Children of time are the interest and the intention. Both so very strong at their starting point, but their flames get weaker and weaker as they burn merciless everything that made them real.

And we run to keep those little sparkles alive, because without them we are left in the dark, unforgivable void of numbness.

Time is cold ice. It's so still, until everything is running towards us. It blocks the body, in the comfortable, known safety of immobility. But it leaves the world free to spin. And we broke the block we're hibernate in, frost coronating the eyelashes, cold cracking the skin.

We keep following the flow, we keep burning ourself and we're falling in iced pits. But time never stops, so neither can we.

~Muhan

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Lovely loveless

I'm not in love. I wish I was.

Love is a strange concept, so vast and limitated at the same time. We trapped it in tight definitions, without any grey areas. You're in love or you're not.

Friendship has lost its power, becoming a mere consolation price for the heartbroken ones.

I love my friends, but they drain all my energy. I can't figure out why with you it's so different.

When their touch hurts, like electricity through my skin, yours is bereable. They talk without thinking, and the words cuts deeper that every swords; but you think about your approch, you put so much effort in it.

And when you offer me your hand, to ground me, or guide me, when the brain fog is too thick to think, I want my soul to be hold by your kindness.

I wish i could say I'm in love with you. But I'm not. I lack all the emotional rollercoster that love brings with it. I miss the jeolousy and my butterflies are skeletons.

But i can't lie to myself saying i'm not in love when I'm desperate for your presence in my life. I'm the middle ground in this strict binary sistem. An exception that should not exist.

I wish i was in love to make those words flow easily, to form deep elegant poems and dedicate them to you. But i'm not and writing down my feelings is a labour.

My light, please turn your gaze upon me and show me i can stand by your side even with this loveless love.

Ignore the lines that define the siluette of what is described as love and accept my affection. I can't fall in love, but every second spent with you is a blessing.

Take my hand, that reach for you, and let me hold it as long as my defected love is what you need. When the world will show you your destiny, you can let me go. But please, don't forget about me, still shine your light on my life and it will be enough.

Good night, my love. I pray you could love me in this loveless way.

~Ecar

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Shards of Past Reflections: vol.1 act.2

Lost and alone, the room was no longer a safe place, the projects that once lived there were gone, now their broken pieces were scattered across the floor.

A masterpiece was what they needed. To regain all they were losing, they had to work harder. But nothing was enough.

Every correction was a new mark of failure, but they couldn't avoid revisions. Failed tests, dead words, costant delusions of expectations. Binded to their creations, the artist fell with them in the mud.

No one's voice could reach them anymore, too deep in the spiral they were running, desperate for an exit.

And they tried to reach perfection, they tried so hard their glass arms started to crack. Long black lines crossed their fingers and hands, holding the brush hurted so much. But they had to ignore it, the aching pain that followed the spreading of the splits as they continued to write.

They covered with bandages that ugly mess to save the beloved mask. But the mistakes multiplied with every try and the sorrow drowned them, lost in the reflection of the stranger in the mirror.

One night the solution became clear to them, they needed to destroy everything and start again from scratch.

Pages were trown in the air, numbers and symbols flied across the room, torn paper reigned on the floor, with the shattered glass and liquid ink of the inkwells. The corrosive tears that took their eyes left holes where they fell, burning scars on the cheeks. The bandages on the arms were cut by the glass shards of the cracks.

But in the end, covered in the remains of their failures, they knew it was useless. They would only mess it up again, ruin forever a perfect blank base for creators.

But once you've picked up your brush, you have to follow through.

Everything hurted them so much, from walking to taking, but they kept creating. And destroying. And creating again. And editing. And destroying again. Spilled blood and broken hope, that's what make a work of art.

But they couldn't hold on, they started losing faith and their grip on their world weakened, too.

When their feet started passing through the clouds, they knew it was over. The last mistake, they had failed their own nature.

The fall was long and painful, with winds so strong, their body was covered in cuts. The landing was worst.

Their legs broken in big glass pieces. It took months to put them back together, and even longer to use them again.

With clipped wings, now they're lost in a new world with nothing, not even themself.

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Shards of Past Reflections: vol.1 act.1

A child with stars in their eyes and the gift of talent in their hands. A powerful creature with the ability to create life, to manipulate the strings of number that describe reality. A young demiurge of the cosmo.

The wonderful results of their works were exibited everywhere, but never for fame of attention. They've always worked hard so their structures won't fail. Everyone could see it, they surely had what is needed to become a creator. And knowing this, the light in their eyes matched the ones in the night sky.

So many were drawn closer by the shooting stars that traveled across their eyes while they were lost in the creation process.

But the artist had to focus, no time for distractions. They were alone, but the loneliness was filled with their projects and they were happy. They knew who they were.

But the more they worked, the higher the stakes, as the codes became more and more complex, and the efforts to maintain their status drained their soul.

Hours on hours spent with the brush in hand, on simple equations. Their peers resolved giant problems so fast, while they were closed in their room, losing their gift, their youth. Cause one mistake it's all that it takes for everything to come crumbling down.

And they started to hate their creations, imperfect errors, incomplete disasters.

Hours became days and their disperate tears burned their cheeks. Demiurges don't cry.

The drops that have fallen on the paper marked it with red. Blood escaped from what was left of their eyes, the remains were corroded slime, slowly falling down. Bloody mess, bloody holes, as the stars lost their sky. Black voids with red reflects were left, as a reminder of what they had lost.

They enchanted a blindfold to be their new eyes and their mask, to hide the price they had to pay for their art.

They need to keep pushing toward their goal, to justify their obsession and the consequences of it. Planning and calculating every details, for perfection.

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A love reflection in loneliness

I love you, as much as I possibly can, which is not as much as you need.

I need your heat but the touch repels me.

I dream your presence but somehow we are always further away from eachother.

I wish i could reach for you, but the rules bind my hands with messages i can't read, as i don't know the codes they're written in.

I'm sorry for my egoistic impulse to love you but just not enough to make you feel loved.

Platonic is too weak, romantic is too much, as if they were the flattest land and highest mountain. In the middle ground i'm alone, as no one is able to find the stability necessary to stop between the rocks during the climbing.

But the view here is so unique, free from the obstacles that block the land's perspective, but not as detached from reality as the climbers on the top are.

A sundown is painted before my eyes, my most beautiful sensation.

But your efforts to drag me up, or down, from my spot, only result in deep cuts on my legs, as they're hitten and scratched by the mountain's side.

It makes me want to cut the rope and let you go. But i won't. As you are my most precious dilemma.

I just wish you could appreciate what i see from here, if only you won't need those definitions imposed on our relationship by others.

I want to feel you close, can we try to find eachother in this cold fog? My love, i won't disappear, can i trust you not to do the same?

~Ecar