Mikiko looked at Sky’s face with a critical look. She could hardly recognize him, so much he was covered in bruises, scratches and various wounds. However, even so, literally swollen from beating, the boy maintained a singular beauty: the eyes, of a magnificent blue, clearer than the sky above Rio in the spring days, stood out even more amid the purple bruises that surrounded his eyelids, and the slightly dark skin, tanned by years of sun, seemed to fit perfectly with the scratches that now covered it, as if they had been there forever. Even the lips, broken in several points, and the long brown hair, which now fell disordered on the sides of the face, helped to give the boy a wild and strangely attractive look.
Mikiko lowered her face, to hide the faint blush that had begun to color her cheeks, and her gaze settled on Sky’s shirt, or at least on what was left of it: shreds of cloth that let glimpse generous portions of abs. Mikiko blushed, becoming purple, while her mind w

«Hey, you do not need to hold your breath, you know». Yuki leaned from behind the panel on which she was painting, to watch her model. In front of her, Echo von Goethe – aka “the model” – remained motionless. «Echo!» Yuki called her harder, but Echo just looked at her and whispered: «I don’t want you to make mistakes».
When Yuki had asked her to be her model for a painting, Echo had taken the task very seriously. The last thing she would had ever expected was to become the subject of a work of art: until then, the women she had seen in paintings were gentle and elegant, while she looked more like a trunk with arms. As much as her body was lean and athletic, according to someone even “statuesque”, Echo had never considered herself beautiful.
Yuki snorted: «I’m not taking a picture, it’s not a problem if you move a little. And certainly I would not paint you with a face like that». In fact, in t

Dedicated to every artist, in any place, any time, and any form
To every creative, visionary and dreamer
To who divides their day between eating, sleeping, and seeking inspiration
To who have realized their dreams, and to who, like me, are still dreaming
To who can hear the sound of silence, and see the color of light
To who plays with the shape of words, and to who puts their meaning first
To who goes crazy looking for a compromise between form and substance
To who “a picture is worth a thousand words”, but isn’t satisfied with even a thousand picture
To who captures life in a moment, and to who reinvents it every day
To who writes and draws everywhere... except on paper
To those whose fingers are always dirty with ink or graphite
To who puts his soul in their art, and expresses it in a thousand different ways
To who still wonders how big the green is, and doesn’t stop looking the sun
To who represent the world where we live, and to who create infinite worlds w

Forse che sì, forse che no
Forse il tuo amore io mai avrò
Forse che il dramma del mio destino
È quello di amarti senza averti vicino
Forse che sì, forse che no
Quale il motivo io non lo so
So solamente che questa rima
È anche peggiore di quella di prima
Forse che sì, forse che no
Per me sei più bella di... uhm... aspetta che riformulo...
Forse che yes, forse che not
Per me sei più bella anche di Gal Gadot
(aimè, altre rime non ho trovato
Però il paragone mi pare appropriato)
Per me sei tu la mia meraviglia
Lucente più di una nuova stoviglia
Forse che sì, forse che no
Perché mi respingi, che mai ti fò?
Voglio pensare che sia per dispetto
Che m’hai piantando le unghie nel petto
Forse che no, forse che sì
T’amo dall’alba fino a mezzodì
Il pomeriggio invece lo passo a cercare nuove rime, che non è mica facile come sembra, eh!
Infatti adesso non me ne vengono più, e penso che questa p

Gods can see a thousand skies
Every sky has thousand stars
Every star says thousand words
Of a song that no one hears.
The lines of an old nursery rhyme cross my mind
While I look at this sky that doesn’t do it justice
An empty sky, black and stifling like petroleum
Where the lights of the city have replaced the stars
Here the world is upside down
I have the sky under my feet
And a dark abyss above my soul
I spent my life trying to capture the sky
Inventing my stars on the field of dreams
But for how many stars we can ever draw
We’ll never be able to fill the sky
"Change the stars", someone said
But from here you see no stars
And no change is possible.