IL GIOCO DEL SILENZIO

The memory of someone is cold not because time has cooled it, but because there was no warmth in it from the very beginning. Cold phrases, unspoken thoughts, unanswered calls – everything merged into one drawn-out, echoing dialogue without sound. It's not offence, not pity, but rather weariness from trying to revive what has died from silence. The melody moves, as if cautiously but with an inner sob, between a breath and an exhale. In every word, you can feel the desire to understand why pain becomes a habit and why silence speaks louder than any explanation. Love here isn't a wound, but a relapse: it returns, tickles old scars, and then leaves again, leaving behind the ringing of emptiness, like the cracking of ice underfoot.