E t'amo e t'amo

One night I came to thinking about my very special love, my very special love to the language. The only possible language there is there for me to speak. The language of Love. The language millions of gorgeous people used to speak, people who are smart, independent, dying to live.  People who were free to love and not be afraid of that. People who, as I see them, are born to speak this language of love and freedom and enlighten others. Those are not people. Those are Gods and people who created Gods in every possible way. Those who are given the privelige of being close to the real beauty. Those who cherish this beauty are those can speak the language of the never-ending love,  the Italian language.
The Italian is the sound of God, its the voice of unknown, voice of the history and the future. Its the voice which opens countless doors of endless possibilities. Its the language I want to wake up to and fall asleep with. Its the language which carasses my flesh without a touch. It leaves me helpless and speechless like a virgin. It penetrates the very essence of me mentally and physically. It wraps my warmth with its silk touch and leaves a romantic flavour in my mouth.
Its the language I am in love with so passionately  I would willingly give up any other for it, for being with it all the time. Dying to listen to it, to speak it, to sip it and slowly swallow feeling it with every single cell of my body.