Klimt1918
 "Just in case we'll never meet again"
(Soundtrack for the cassette generation)

'Never seek to tell thy love, love that never told can be'

::: William Blake :::

The road is a dark vein disappearing in the bowels of the countryside. There's the pavement of two thousand years old, there are indistinct shapes of mausoleums ivy-clad and then the noise of tyres creaking upon the pumice stones and wedging themselves in the tracks of time. Up and down, surrounded by amniotic darkness falling down the windows and taking your breath away. A few more meters, up to an edge of grass, next to a huge cypress, the last of an endless row kilometres long. You go out first, without saying a word, staring at me. I see your hands looking so light in the dark. Where only sometime earlier there were your eyes now spaces an impenetrable shadow that hides the face leaving entire only features of the mouth. You slowly breath the smell of fires lit up somewhere, in the night. And I do the same, laying the hand, searching for your fingers. You can hardly distinguish 'em, as all the rest, while we walk, trying not to fall, supporting each other and smiling about our clumsy movements. The darkness inabriates our bodies and let 'em adrift as far as the border of the old consular street. There's a hidden house among the ruins by the sloping roof, wide open windows, the walls covered by jasmine in bloom. No noise at all, no trace of life but the shutters open, the impenetrable dark of the inside,  the feeling of being observed. It's cold, all of a sudden, when the wind blows among the leaves and the tops of the cypresses almost touch one another. There's nothing left but clasping in each other arms, keeping the balance upon a single staggering flagstone. My eyes in yours, comparing our darkness bodies.

Would have you ever thought to get to such a point? A few weeks ago we didn't know ourselves and now we're  on this road forgotten by time, in front of a black house, surrounded by bubbling trees. We two, like two different worlds which nightly collide, when none can be our witness. We're here, without saying nothing, without getting so much close for fear of not to be able to part anymore. We can stay like this for hours, without hearing nothing but the noises of planets and stars which slowly turn around us. I follow you, step by step, towards black and silver fields, the frozen smell of ears of wheat breathing. It's a waving choir crossed by fireflies. Small flashes you try to hold with the hands while you smile. Can't see your mouth but I feel the warmth and the muscles moving. Now we are in the pulsing heart of silence, where the veins bedewing blood of twilight collide.

This is a farewell,  these are your eyes searching for mine at night. Millions of dirty white stars above us. I point at the Milky Way to take part to its silent thousand-year-old living. It's like grasping at the infinite and trying to convice ourselves that everything we're living (these hours, these days) will be forever. So we go on telling lies, with itching feet tormented by corn. I smell my hands tasting of thyme and soil. Yours smell of things which have torn and that now are gonna run away, faraway.
''Stay, don't go away''. I say it to my ears, mumbling. With low glance and sunken chested. ''Stay with me,  through the night. Lights of town are distant and are only a tongue of fire on the horizon. There still are fires of farmers lit up who knows where. There's the wish of guessing and running, soothing and curing''. It's only sentences dedicated to the swarming insects, the dusty moths and the ghosts of abandoned farmhouses. You smile, deaf and damned. You'll never know, or maybe you'll always known. You let embracing and smelling yourselves. This is a farewell, these are my eyes drowing in yours. This is my heart. Can you hear how is beating? It's ruinous beats. Each one could be the last, as the instants which follow one another, as the trail of that plane over there which meek roars. Air and clouds. Then the tongue sinks in the flesh. Once, twice, three times. The sorrow, the metallic taste, the tears which do not want to know to trickle down. The silence. The terrible, huge silence, the saliva in mouth, longing to scream and curse. And again the night birds flying searching for preys, the faded moon, the clear recollection of the first time I kissed you. The inventory of the parting includes even your death. I innocently imagine it, I solemnly fancied it.

Over there, over the corn-field there's the black house with open windows. A woman looks out, smiles in the shadow and disappears. There are swarms of mosquitos and the smell of jasmine. We're in the pulsing heart of silence, where the veins of twilight collide. This is a farewell. This is the night. Yet a few meters more, up to an edge of grass, next to huge cypress, the last of an endless row kilometres long. Black and silver behind us. Step by step, trying not to fall. ''Stay with me'', I repeat, ''Stay now''.

Following tales - "Skygazer", "Ghost of a tape listener", "The Graduate"