Fiore Di Ghiaccio paints the scene of a crumpled letter, full of crossed-out words and second thoughts, where Paola Turci speaks to someone she loves yet can no longer reach. The ice flower of the title is a delicate image: beautiful but untouchable, frozen in its own world. Turci’s narrator admits she has “already gone,” while the other person hasn’t noticed the moment of departure. From that quiet distance she offers both affection and a warning, urging the listener to “keep yourself out of danger,” because she won’t be there to catch them anymore.
Wrapped in gentle guitar lines, the song balances tenderness with bittersweet regret. The repeated idea of “distant planets” turns their relationship into a tiny drama set in a vast universe, where two bodies once close now orbit on separate paths. The lyrics explore nostalgia, the guilt of leaving, and the surprising way our smiles and habits can still mirror those we’ve lost. It’s a heartfelt reminder that loving someone sometimes means letting them grow on their own, even when the goodbye is scribbled in shaky handwriting.