You were writing in reverse the meaning of life.
You were the mirror of Renaissance.
You were searching for the future inside the past.
No one knew that you existed.
Even now that I’m thinking about it.
Society couldn’t see you.
Because they couldn’t understand you.
You remained invisible thought.
And now that I’m reading you
even if you are dead for the others
you finally live inside me.
Like you knew that I was waiting for you.
We are alone inside the centuries
so that Humanity exists.
Sorry that I was late.