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    We are like roads: made by asphalt. We run everywhere but, actually, nowhere. We are breathless before the black, heavy night. Black as the mome… Read More
    We are like roads: made by asphalt. We run everywhere but, actually, nowhere. We are breathless before the black, heavy night. Black as the moment in which you realize you are alone on your way; white as the light, the salvation you look for desperately. A quest for light is never an easy job: it is made of trouble, pain, suffering, loneliness. But it is necessary. Read Less
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We are like roads: made by asphalt. We run everywhere but, actually, nowhere.
We are breathless before the black, heavy night.

Black as the moment in which you realize you are alone on your way; white as the light, the salvation you look for desperately.

A quest for light is never an easy job: it is made of trouble, pain, suffering, loneliness. But it is necessary.