On a night with a full moon, when the wind whispers forgotten stories

On a night with a full moon, when the wind whispers forgotten stories, I sit by the river that flows endlessly, like my thoughts, And I feel time dissolve, like mist under the gentle rays of morning, I feel the silence become a song of birds lost in the horizon, I feel the grass beneath my feet telling tales of those who came before, And I let myself be carried by the waves of memories crashing on the shores of my heart, Because to travel means to feel, to feel everything without limits, To feel how every breeze carries with it unspoken desires and dreams, To feel how every fallen leaf becomes a symbol of passing time, To feel how every twinkle of the stars is a promise of eternity, Because, in truth, all things are excessive, All reality is an excess, an untamed violence, An extraordinarily vivid hallucination, where colors explode into thousands of shades, And I, the eternal traveler, lose and find myself in this endless flow of experiences, Continuing to feel, to dream, to exist in this world of dreams and realities.