A journey in the mirror

What do I see in the mirror

In the mirror – Italian language could probably commit a suicide. It would be better to say – what does the mirror reflect?
Which image do I see?

However I can’t help but wonder about what’s inside the mirror so, just for today, we’ll all pretend this is not that wrong.

In the mirror there is an image always changing: depending on the person who stares at. Each one of us sees something different.

What I see has nothing to do about the way this pair of shoes or that dress fit on me. It has nothing to do with the way my hair look like or the rhinoplasty I’m waiting to do since decades neither.

It has nothing to do  with this horrible pimple which gloriuosly stands on my nose, caused by the stress, it has nothing to do with it, not today.

Beyond all of this, in the mirror, there is a child who looks like me.

Beyond my wrinkles, beyond the make-up and the disappointment there is me, and I am not invincible, I am not that strong: not as they think.

I’m not a reference point, I’m not the friend you’ll love to have: the one who will guide you and has always an answer for everything. Because she has lived a lot, because she’s as alone as wise and she knows how it works.

She knows what to do.

In the mirror there is a child who fears to disappoint the other’s expectactions. Expectations from who wants her to change, who wants her different from herself. Expectations from who wants her to be like this forever: uncapable to love, never strong enough to admit to be fragile.

Inside the mirror there is me.

I want time, peace. I want my family and my Kinder Paradiso as I was 7.

When I’m stressed and every part of me from my head to my feet is flaming, when my telephone kills me and each trill is like a stab, when my pc reminds me a dementor who kisses away joy and happiness I come to see her. I get done with my duties and I come to see her.

I’ve been ignoring her, for ages. I’ve let her starving and suffering from loneliness saying

Shut up up, I get it. I’m in charge to do everything alone, and I have to do it. I can’t waste my time on you.

I’ve wanted to be the greatest.

I have been relentless.

I didn’t pay attention on making difference between the person we must be and the person we are. For ages I’ve been living in “the person we must be” mood.

People says I’m smart, I have balls, I dare, I take care of myself, I get through.

People says they’re proud of me, that I’m independent,.

If friends ask me for a suggestion I give tìit to them, 99% of times.
Because I’ve been through it I’ve lived that situation.
They say I’m analytic (yes), a pain in the ass (yes), they say I’m extremely strong.

But my inner me is that child.

When I see her I tell her what the grown-ups world is about.

A place where a great comfort comes from the possibility to not choose and no one wants to stay that close to the others, relatives too and there is no

A country where a strange language is spoken: a language which changes the meaning of words anche love is considered as a cruse most of the times.

In the mirror there is a person who rests, not the lyoness who fights against everyone and everything.

There is a naive who wants to play

and I want to take care of her.