In this crazy life
You can erase
But you won't copy and paste
Chapters
Pages
Sentences
Words
Characters.
They may repeat themselves
But in each shadow of a font
It lies either
An hidden filth or
A quiet magic
That differentiates
That hierarchises
Highlighting and lifting the hidden exceptional
From the loud degenerates.
It's singularity:
In it's specificity,
In the way it's written,
A single word
Changes the rhythm
The theme and track
Of a whole book.
And Life
It is a book
Handwritten
With Permanent Ink.
Each word
Even repeated
Is different
And some of them
For some weird reason
Just big bangs
Your life.