Rubbles.

Italian version

.

We are a lifetime telling ourselves to “fix”,

as if we were really all fixers.

But we don’t fix anything,

it is not necessary to do this.

I don’t want to heal wounds,

that cannot heal.

I know by now

that certain things remain,

which are like scars,

that there is nothing that can be fixed.

That whoever has decided to leave,

will remain so,

even if I became “the perfect being”.

And, I understood one thing:

that I don’t give a damn

to fix a land that does not want to be saved.

Which I have no intention of

To “solve my problems by staying here”.

I want to be well,

and solve, or try to solve,

it is one of the many ways to feel bad.

It’s like staying in a spiral,

without ever being able to get out.

In the end, we leave it all destroyed,

we leave everything damaged,

that it is better this way, than in the end,

we are all rubbles.

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