The sea is a fraud. For the eyes, mind, peace.
The sea is so strong that his infinite distant flicker makes you feel closer to the smells, to see the changing colors, to distinguish its depth, to enhance its foaming to the shore, shaking all the time against the barriers, to dance with the rocks and whipping the big red fishing boats, with their ropes, nets intent to withdraw.
It 's a ritual deception that makes you closer to the roar of the wave you see in the beginning and then wait for the thunder and the hiss of a return to prepare another.
It 's a trick never tamed her beauty under heaven that swollen by the color of the sea in motion, press on the houses yellow, gray, brick red and peeling from the foam to pop windows geraniums grown in salt.
It 's a trick the unchanging desire to get closer to a rock to another, sitting on his heels ready to escape, unable ever to measure the time of the triptych of waves more majestic.
It 's a trick, and you feel healthy from disease endless, hopelessly sad and want to travel through, penetrate, get confused.
It 's a trick his love, the sea does not give you love, you attract with its sirens and you can not leave, you can not avert, calling you every day, wants your love.
It gives you back the anger that he could not hold back, stop.
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