Manipulations
In the blue night where trees twist like wounded thoughts,
a woman walks in silence,
a fragile figure dissolved in the shadows and the rain within.
Before her, a single path.
A single passage towards the light.
But at the end of the path stands the man with the red flowers.
With one hand he offers love,
and with the other, unseen,
he closes off the horizon.
The flowers speak of forgiveness,
of promises whispered after the storm,
but their red also bears the colour of blood,
of wounds we cannot see,
of scars hidden beneath sweet words.
The moon illuminates the scene like a truth impossible to escape:
manipulation does not always scream.
Sometimes it caresses,
it offers,
it begs,
all the while preventing the other from moving forward.
The black branches resemble threads stretched around the woman,
like the invisible bonds of control.
And in this landscape between dream and prison,
love becomes a contradiction:
a hand that draws near
and a presence that imprisons.
