Change

Come to see u tomorrow
R u laughing? Why?

No it’s just that technically today is tomorrow already, and cause I don’t believe it, obviously,
Take this biscuit and have a good breakfast. Bye

Ok.
But tell me that is not one of those vegan things, bleh…You know… Terrible..
C’mon Give me your number

HAHA no, my number is a bad idea, but the biscuit is not vegan… Man… Who do you think am I?

A good news,
some good news, instead

What?

Well…The biscuit is not vegan, first
Then I know that it’s here that you live, Porta Genova, good
Then..

Then…

You’re smiling

And so?

So see u tomorrow, damn later, see u later
If you prefer.

And later we met, and then again and again… ‘Til we haven’t seen each other more.
Never again.
Never, exept for that night.
That night when you entered the Hotel’s park to explain to me why you left.
It was June in both the circumstances.
You changed my life twice.

Maybe it was exactly what I was expecting without even know who you were. I was looking for you, leaving our city in 2010, meeting you elsewhere, in a strange city, a strange city for each one of us. It was June, hot as hell, 42 degrees. Those times I was arguing with life ‘cause it wasn’t give me feelings I knew I do deserve.
I was bored, I wanted a different life, I wanted more action, passion, drama.
Then you arrived, and a mercy never ever came to me anymore.

How is your son?
What is his name?
Which was the very first word he said?
Was it LOVE? If yes, Who knows what did you think when he said it.
Personally speaking, when someone mention love. I think about your hand on my ear to make me fall asleep even if outside there’s bruise.
I use to do this by myself even now that you will never come around anymore, when it’s so damn hard to sleep… Cause of struggles, fears, desires and so on.. Telling myself that everything is going to be alright even if nothing is alright at all.

Nowadays I’m working out well on one of my favourite Hobbies…. Desrtoying my precarious life, waiting for the end, ready to build another reality which is going to that precarious again.
Working without passion, with a fixed-term contract, dating without love some very good looking guys. The one who falls first, lose. Usually I am a loser.
Breaking with a friend I was expecting to love me more. This kind of things…
Do you still think about the caffèlatte?

Is LOVE a word? While I was queuing to pay my exams I was wondering about a conversation that won’t ever come true. A conversation where I was explaing to a man that rejected me that love is not a word, no. Is the only reason we live. And that everytime we chose love, we chose life.
I wanted myself to chosen, I failed.

As I was saying this is the report of my last mini life. Analyzed in 40 black minutes, under the Petrarca’s statue.
My thoughts and arthritis as only certainties in life.
Awesome.

Some weeks ago a person asked me what did I do when I was not in his company.
Well, I go to work everyday, I go to my analyst once a week, I sleep with someone. I learn to manage my problems as a big girl do; in silence, breaking stuff from time to time, fighting an addiction, eating less.

I’m not happy with my job, but I go out of my mind when I go bankrupted buying thing to fill holes.
I’m surrounded by negativity and lack of love. Everywhere I look.
I live in the Centre of Padua. Do you still hate this place?
I say some lies about myself in order to appear less complicated, more accessible; then I hurt myself.

I wait, it’s been 26 years that I’m waiting for a moment not to feel myself alone.
I wait for an American auntie to die, I wait for a feedback asap, I wait for the orgasm, I wait for the courage, I wait for my salary.
I wait in bed, eating, smoking, breathing. I wait standing, I wait sitting: reading, watching The Weather Man, listening to Spotify Premium: it makes me feel so rational, adult.
A rational girl who sits down the Petrarca’s statue.

This rational girl is now sitting down the Petrarca’s staue and is crying.

A tourist takes a photo: in a living room somewhere in England he’ll show the photos he took in Italy to his family, we’re not invited.
Among them there’s one picture of a statue and a rational girl who is crying, waiting for something in vain.