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At infinity

Given some works, I sometimes feel the Stendhal syndrome. Images that flash, move him inexplicably. They give the feeling of duplication, as though the soul suddenly left the body, the sensation of near fainting. Or much more raw, the sensation of physical effort done nothing in the stomach. I may be fragile and so I feel that famous syndrome, perhaps not as violently as Stendhal himself, or Ruskin in Venice, and I'm lying Stendhal, not only before the Italian works, oh no.
For the rest, almost - silence. Everything is known.

walk through the castle, a castle even grayer than usual today because of rain that falls and falls, running into the gutter and runs down the window pane and the gray, a rainbow sky.
one who has already walked no other reason than to walk, no other wish than to place the son of the imagination and sometimes, to calm a moment of violence, known as the one can still walk like that for hours and hours, and if you meet people, suddenly surrounded, and even surrounded, and even to speak, we realize we are one and we know that they say there has not even matter, because what is not said with fever, and sometimes the bend of the corridor that you borrow when you chose to flee, one encounters someone who looks like us and we have the urge to touch his shoulder to tell him we're here. Even if he or she cares. And then, when we recall a phrase of the author ever read, because you only read this sentence, and just by chance, and it is surely a tragedy, we understand what love is, and is loving someone more than yourself , and when the truth hits the heart, then we can make a clean sweep.

Then we can go outside, see how trees grow. Grandma, you had to teach me to sow seeds at the foot of the tree to see the flowers bloom in summer as you promised, but you forgot to younger than me, before I forget thee.

And it's raining. Even stronger. Drizzle and downpour, as the poets say.
Long hours wandering through the maze inside, watching the window, playing the oldest game in the world called Make Believe.
And when it's gray in the Attic, we say that the best thing to do is to get buckets in the cellar, and then pretty bowls and earthenware pots to collect water droplets. And when it's gray, the maze can sometimes turn into a prison. But I prefer my
Maze Prison, which sometimes becomes, in a gilded cage in any How happy place in this world.