A quegli amori che non ce l'hanno fatta

A quegli amori mai sbocciati ma che avrebbero voluto farlo, come rose rosse, nella più bella delle Primavere.
A quegli amori che "chissà come sarebbe stato".
A quegli amori fatti di sguardi. Sguardi che parlano una loro lingua, bellissima, e che avrebbero voluto affondare in un mare d'amore. Al suo profumo inconfondibile, che arriva all'improvviso come una brezza leggera per poi trasformarsi in un potente uragano. Che sconvolge e se ne va, così come è arrivato, lasciando l'indelebile segno del suo passaggio.
A quegli amori che oppongono resistenza ma che, alla fine, si lasciano andare al loro volere.
A quegli amori fatti di baci sognati, sospirati, non dati e di quelli che "vorrei ma non posso". Di frasi sussurrate e parole non dette.
A quegli amori che hanno avuto la durata di un battito di ciglia ma che sono stati Amori.
Agli amori che sbagliano i tempi. A quelli che non trovano pace, che tormentano, perseguitano e che continueranno a influenzare il cuore.
Agli amori che non hanno avuto coraggio, a quelli che non hanno avuto la forza di iniziare e a quelli che non hanno avuto la giusta congiunzione astrale.
Agli amori impossibili e a quelli irrealizzati. A quelli che sarebbero esplosi di passione come un vulcano e a quelli che avrebbero voluto essere tante cose, vedere tanti luoghi, ma non sono stati capaci di intraprendere lo stesso cammino.
Agli amori che sono stati Amore anche se per un giorno, un mese o una settimana.
A tutti quegli amori che, per diverse ragioni, non ce l'hanno fatta. Ma che avrebbero voluto.

Vineyard

The beauty. That of an afternoon in late July in the hills, under the blazing gorgeous sun. The magnificence of nature and its activity in a simple way. A sunrise, a sunset, a starry sky or overcast. A landscape that is being lost. A lovely space, nothing finished and definite, the unripe grape smell and a kitten in the shadow of a vineyard.
The beauty of those who laugh and turn the page. Of those who still believe in something. The beauty of the little things, the simple, genuine, well, true. Because the best things are even closer: the light in the eyes, flowers at our feet, the path of the just fine in front of us, the breath of life.
The beauty of a hug, warm, like the wind in the summer, the most beautiful dress to donate. As one of those to go out with in the evening, long, red. An "important" dress. One of those to leave you breathless.
The charm of two eyes that look at you, chase you, lose into your world, and the beauty of a woman and of her smile. Of her perfumed skin and her laugh. The magic, of a love or a friendship, enclosed in a wire coil. That red and invisible wire that binds two destinies.
The beauty, the real one, is in the eyes of the beholder.

La Principessa e il cacciatore

Unconsciously we run away from feelings, for fear. Fear of being hurt and disappointed, once again. We fight them as if they were a demon or a wicked witch who want to deprive us of our happiness. When, happiness, might be hidden right there in those feelings.

He had taught that evil exists and we have to defend yourself.

He did not know what had hit ofher, perhaps a word or how she bent her head to the side when she smiled. But from that day she was in his thoughts, returning when least expected it.

They met by chance at the ball and, again by chance, found themselves one day walking in a forest not far from the palace of the princess.

He recognized her immediately, hovering gracefully here and there, wrapped in a fluffy fur coat, looking for some kind magical creature could capture her attention. She had red lips like roses, big brown eyes, brown hair, white skin as snow, the happy air and, about dress, you can not say that it was there to do anything.

When their eyes met, it was felt a spark in the big eyes of the princess, and her red lips seemed to quiver as if the slightest provocation could open in a smile.

She gave him a brief glance and froze, while a smile drews on those red lips, then turned her head shyly. The fact that she had turned away was index of discretion, modesty and good manners, qualities which he considered essential for a beautiful girl.

That was the spark to attract the attention of the hunter. At that moment he felt something unusual to the heart. He had not felt that peculiar sensation, pleasant yet strangely painful from years. It was love.

He reached her, calmly, to keep her from running away, just as he had done with the fawns. He took her hand and with the other stroked her rosy cheeks. Then he looked at the long, silent, captivated by her beauty.

He pressed her to himself, in a warm embrace, and they spoke at length with the eyes and smiles, surrounded by the silent wood.

Suddenly the voice of the hunter broke the silence: "You can trust me. With me you're safe." - he said - "I will indicate a filter of love without poisons, no herbs, no magic formulas: if you want to be loved, love."

Princess's red lips parted in one of her most seductive smiles. He slowly approached to her face and kissed her with ardor and sweetness, tasting her tender lips, until the princess slumped in his arms, silently accepting his protection and his love.