MUSICAL MEMORIES

I know that I often play the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little. I grew up in a family where music is worth a lot: pop, rock, rap, instrumental, house, alternative, blues and so on. In my house there has always been a sweet background music of some artist, who craved art, and we have always appreciated it. I had (like everyone) my preferences. The object in the photo is mine. An old cassette tape. My father spent hours recording various kinds of songs, mixtapes for my mother. Perfection I believe. So I know that I often do the “know-it-all of music”, I regret it a little, but when I do some mixtapes for someone too, I will do it with artists who crave art.
The importance you give to a song is solely derived from the person who makes you think of it while you listen to it. I’ve heard so many songs, it’s a life that I listen to songs, every day, every hour. I love that it always remains my favorite song. Among the millions of songs I have listened to, it is always her, she who is capable of making you take a sigh and say goodbye to what you were, what you are and what you will be, remaining unique, for those three minutes. Thank you so much for letting me have a favorite song!
Do you say we would be happy? Together I mean … I have my music, you have your passions. I’m not ready to risk everything, anything that makes me say “this is what I am” to another person. So I understood, the perfect fusion between the happiness I feel with you and why I am in the world became my creed, my mission for years! All this to say that “this is what I am: happy” puzzles don’t stick to one piece. The beauty of the game is to complete the work!
What sound do you prefer songs from the past that you would like to listen to again?

LOVING AN ARTIST

Loved only by those who had brought me into the world, I was a winged-hearted creature. A free creature, who would never have sacrificed the wings of freedom to a stupid and obsolete feeling commonly called love. Armed only with myself, in the evening, I spread my wings above the world and let myself be caressed by the wind, with my soul naked and free of inhibitions. The warm currents squeezed me and the taste of the lack of ties satisfied me; nothing in the world could ever upset my balance. Nothing, I was sure, for nothing, in my eyes, shone more than freedom. They are artists, for me, those who know how to create a unique world in which to take refuge. You, for me, were an artist. And as such, I envied you when, from the bedroom window, I saw the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen take shape on previously white canvases. Then you smiled at me, sent me a kiss and went back to painting. If it was just a joke, or if you really wanted to give me kisses, I don’t know, but the way you looked at me, the curious eyes with which you looked at my tousled hair and my oversized jacket, made me fall back lightly my wings, before spreading them in all their glory and straightening my head. No one would ever overwhelm me, not you, with your gemstone gaze, not anyone else. I was not like you. I was not beautiful, or clear, and I did not look perfect even with the face dirty with acrylic color and the hair gathered in a messy way. I’ve never been like you. I, I told myself, was free. Free from all ties and free from everything that could have binded me to the world. And my greatest wealth was freedom. Of this I am sure. I lived like this, as it happened. I lived for the day, detaching myself more and more from the earthly world and taking refuge in the warmth of my parents’ hugs. Their chests were warm and full of life. Full of love for me, but that love, perhaps, was not enough. That love, perhaps, did not have the color of your paintings and did not represent sunrises and sunsets. That love, I discovered, was not yours. It was inviolate, unconditional, but it did not come from the chest of the only person who, with his paintings and his smile, was able to take my breath away and make me angry. When I realized I loved you, I cried. I cried like I had never done before. One evening when it was raining I went out, on tiptoe I reached towards the sky; towards freedom, but this was so far away. I closed my eyes, as the rain soaked my clothes and weighed me down, I promised myself that feeling would not touch me. His chains would not have destroyed my wrists. I think I’ve never been good at keeping my promises, nor at winning wars. And so, crying, my feet touched the ground and for you, for your paintings and your sunsets, I tasted your lips stained with tempera, drowning in your presence and in your breath, clinging to my shoulders with all of myself. If you had left me, I would have died. I also gave up my only affections; those parents who, when they learned that I loved a girl, closed the door in my face and never reopened it are still just a memory. “Don’t you want to play with me today?” The wind asks me. But my wings are closed now, I hold your hand. That’s okay, you know? Sleep, sleep a little longer, my love. When you wake up, I will still be here. If, however, you find only this letter, look at the sun. Rising, it brings you a message: “She loves you,” he says “More than freedom?” “Yes, more than freedom.”

MYSTERIA LANE

On the second floor of my building lives a couple of elderly gentlemen. I have no idea what his name is, but I have often heard him refer to her as "Dear Rosina". I met them on the stairs and before greeting me with big smiles, I saw them come down arm in arm, slowly, patiently. I thought of Montale, how he was able to paint the same scene with all the love he felt for his partner who was no longer there. As a child, I dreamed of great achievements, distant journeys, a fire lit in a house that I could call mine. Now I just hope to be able to grow old with a man next to me who looks at me as my neighbor looked at his Rosina, step by step.
There is a gentleman on the third floor of my building. He is a very robust man on the verge of obesity. However this is hardly visible due to its height. I got to know him from the very beginning of my arrival in this building thanks to his desperate, angry screams, at mealtimes, addressed to a woman who in my fantasies I assume was the very old mother. I then got to know him physically from the peephole of my door since, throughout the quarantine, couriers arrived to deliver packages to the latter. Everyday. Every day more and more out of breath from step to step. Always the quarantine then, he introduced me to Paola, the neighbor across from my building, who asked me if I too heard the cries of this man and then informed me that a few months earlier the one who confirmed me to be his mother died. The mother of this man.
There are those people you would like to get rid of for good.
Like the guy who, no matter how many times you've told him, continues to park his car on your private parking lot; or the neighbor who every Sunday morning starts drilling the walls, which also makes you doubt that his house has now become a gruyere, who will never have to drill, no one knows. Or the classic annoying relative you see once every three months, and in that one time he is able to get you a real third degree about boyfriends / study / work, and he can't understand that in those three months things haven't changed much, and the only thing you want to tell him is to shut the damn mouth.

Or the classic friend - or friend, of your choice - of the person you're with. The nice friend who doesn't have to put in much effort to be a bitch, because she was born with this talent, and she is also very good at smashing the so-called with her presence.

Well, unfortunately, we cannot get rid of these people. Not by legal means, at least. But looking at them with a smile and sending them straight to fuck can be seriously rewarding.
Under my window I hear the neighbors' child. his name is like me and in these days of isolation he often plays in the garden, helps his mother to make the vegetable garden and plant the seeds. she has never been too patient, yet now there is a whole new cure in the gestures that are repeated, from the soil that falls into the pot to the attention with which she takes care that each plant has its right amount of sun. when time expands, more attention can be paid, more kindnesses can be granted. "I would like to know only when it will end" the little girl lets slip and this is what we are all asking ourselves a bit, between worry and the days that repeat themselves. then her mum takes her by the hand and helps her to wet the earth with the watering can, I look at them from above with the cat and I think that all we can do is just that, keep the soil ready and take care of the seeds.
But I still carry dance inside. He forged me, he taught me to measure myself with my strength, with the need for order. It is to her that I owe the discipline I work with. It was hard to have to leave, but it was my driving force and it still is. "
Dusting off old photos ... A past life between spikes, tutu, hall, shows and theaters ... Infinite sadness for letting go of the only thing that can make me really happy. 
I don't think I'm an excellent girlfriend. I have my mood swings. I have my fixes. I have my flaws. I try to restrain myself, not to seem psychopathic, not to make tragedies. I'm good at being strong. Then I burst out for a trifle, as if it were the most important in the world. And I'm a child, sometimes. Stubborn. I get angry about something and can't think of anything else for the next three days. I'm drastic, I don't know half measures. With me or without me. Right or wrong. In or out. There are no ajar doors, only locked doors and keys thrown into the void. There is no going back. I am emotional, instinctive. I let go of people I needed just out of pride. I held back people who didn't deserve me just for hope. I am romantic. I cry in front of a movie and get excited by small thoughtful gestures. I write love letters that I will never have the courage to read aloud. I pay attention to details. I'm a perfectionist, sometimes hysterical. I am far from the idea of ​​perfection. But I love so much. I love with all my strength, no ifs and buts. I love with every single part of my body. I love so much that I have stomach cramps, other than butterflies. And even if my loving so much started to wear me out, I'd let it.

STORY OF A GIRL ON THE BENCH

It happened a month ago. I was sitting in the car, as my father was driving around, he was ready to buy something; the car was a patched church from a near to the park and to pass the time I observed the people, parrot and they could not see me, because the windows yes, but I, if they shouted, could also hear them. There were many groups and small groups scattered around the park, they laughed, joked. I noticed a girl sitting completely alone on her bench, it was the bench closest to my car so she could see well her big sad eyes that each both guarded in all over the park and, by chance and met others immediately turned to look down. Her dark hair was tied up in a disorderly fashion, in a notebook on her legs and a pen in her left hand, she was left-handed. He stared at the notebook with the tip of the pen between his teeth and, each wrote, as unexpectedly encourages inspiration. Every now and then he would stop and get in his way quickly. I saw a tall handsome boy approaching the bench, he asked for something pointing to the bench, read nodded and then he sat down. I lowered the window a little, just not to be seen and heard, where absolutely to see how it ends. The girl had closed the notebook leaving the pen inside, the boy raised his hand in the air and started shouting according to someone to approach. And here comes a beautiful girl, the classic barbie who stands next to him. -Sorry, we’re leaving soon, we have to wait for some friends but we’re giving a lot of standing time and there is no free bench, it bothers you say it .- She shook her head with a forced smile and then turned away from the Other part, not from saying no. He made a strange face, put his hand on his forehead and shook his head and I understood. He probably thought -How could I think that it was come here for me, what a fool! in a romantic puzzle. Then he lowered his head, I knew what he was feeling, I knew it very well. The people who passed in front of that bench turned around for a moment to look at it, pointed at it to the rest of the group and then a general laugh was heard. She pretended not to hear, not to notice, but her knuckles had turned white from how much she held the pen. Another boy approached her and without asking anything he sat down, she didn’t even look at him. He did not call anyone, he stood there and looked in front of him, clapped his hands on his legs and his right leg moved nervously. He asked the girl for the time and she coldly answered him, without even looking into his eyes. Then he continued to write. After a few seconds of silence he asked her -What do you write? – Her pen fell on the ground, she didn’t pick it up and then said: -Nothing that could interest you- -That I should judge- -The truth is that I have never read to anyone what I write- – Are you a writer? – -I would like to, but it’s not my gift, let’s say .- -How do you know if no one has ever read what you write? – -I need to judge what I write. – No it is not true. Do you think you are beautiful? – -I? Of course not .- -Here, you see? For me you are instead, and in my opinion it is the same thing with what you write- -I really have to go now- said the girl getting up. The boy stood there saying nothing, watching her as she walked away. After a while he got up too, and with his hands in his pockets went to the opposite side. I was shocked, I didn’t understand why she left, she wasn’t used to being complimented and she probably couldn’t handle the situation. I would have liked to get out of the car and stop her, tell her there was nothing to fear, to try to be happy, but how could I if, in the end, I am like her? And so a month went by, I didn’t think about it anymore. Yesterday I was walking around the town with a friend of mine, I was talking to her quietly when at a certain point I saw her, the girl from the park, she had loose hair and a beautiful smile and, you know the nice thing? He was holding hands with that boy, they walked past me and I looked at them for a while. Who knows what had happened, from that afternoon to that moment, what story there was, I wanted so much to know it, but, for the moment, I’m content to imagine it. I just hope they will be happy.





SANDALS FOR WALKING ON THE BEACH

Whenever you don’t have an answer to everything that happens, look at the sea. You will not have solutions but you will give meaning and flavor to everything. The salty of the salt, the texture of the sand that covers your feet and the wind that hisses in your ears while your heart is filled with love. And you turn to observe the steps you have left behind you and you realize that they are not two but four. Here it is. It is precisely in that moment that everything makes sense.
Walking, footsteps on footsteps, on the asphalt, on the sidewalks, between the paths, and then again its grounds with shrubs and stones, in exploration. Looking for places and landscapes to see and savor! Head and body in the sun, 21 degrees, jacket at the waist! Glasses, t-shirt and sneakers. It was supposed to be just a leisurely stroll but then we follow a little bit of our instincts, or maybe more of the feelings. I will lose to find myself. To discover. The air and the scent of the sea, you pass through the vegetation, still a few meters. Here we are! His bare feet on the fresh and morbid sand, I gave him that they sink between these infinite grains and the eyes that look at that intense blue sky. The sound of the waves and the (strong) wind in your hair. I smile and continue to smile for most of the way We walk anchor and our feet travel miles on that expanse of sand, free and of no one. We wander, every now and then we get lost in every detail, sometimes they are further back, others further ahead. My catch to keep me gentlemen in the distance fishing. My still to keep will be treated in some with the essay is replaced by stones and my bare feet perceive different sensations, especially when I decide to play the water! It is frozen but it is so beautiful; We need the myriad of shells and that vegetation that I cannot define. Someone else is walking. Time is ours We arrived in the background and waiting for us are the rocks together with other people fishing, we sit down, to rest for a moment. Walking on the sand is therapeutic, in every sense! And then we stay there with the sun that continues to warm and shine on our skin and I goth these moments of blissful serenity
You know when the sand is hot but you don’t care why you are running towards the sea? “Here is life we ​​should live it like this” That I do not know who wrote it and why he wrote it, is he imprisoned drugs or was crazy and then I think, will he have two or three centimeters of callus under his feet? When I ford towards the sea and the hot sand I splash I don’t run, and I suffocate so much I suffocate my chair that I can’t do it, it’s terrible to walk on hot sand to torture. Well a life like this, always like this, don’t I even wish a boh? Not so a who. But for heaven’s sake!
We walk, we leave all those footprints in the sand, and they stay there, precise, orderly. But tomorrow, you will get up, look at this great beach and there will be nothing left, a footprint, any sign, nothing. The sea clears, at night. The tide hides. It is as if no one has ever passed. It is as if we never existed. If there is a place in the world where you can think you are nothing, that place is here. It is no longer land, it is not yet the sea. it’s not false life, it’s not true life. It is time. Time passing. Stop.
today I took my grandmother to the sea. I went to see her, it was sunny and when I saw her close her eyes to enjoy the moments outside I thought “why not?”. the window rolled down halfway and her pepper-and-salt hair swinging sweetly in the wind. it always smells good, nobody else wears it. I helped her walk on the sand with crutches and despite being afraid of getting dirty or falling, we put our feet in the water. her with stockings folded neatly aside, me with my wet jeans. there was silence, a distant dog barking and the whole horizon ahead, a boat near the rocks. “I’ll miss you, but I won’t tell you anymore.” a lump rose in my throat, two faster blinks of an eye. a question that I did not hold back came out because who better than her can understand? “Have you ever regretted coming here, Grandma? of having left home behind? ” I saw her sigh and close her eyes again with a light smile in the sun, then one for me “nothing is easy, but why repent? I did it with love and it was right. it was the way to my happiness. your mom, your brother, you .. you are my happiness. don’t be afraid to look ahead, baby. even the sea that returns to the shore every time never really stops. “
I want to eat pizza under the covers with you. I want to hug you, but hug really good to lose my breath, so much do I know how I will breathe my service? I want the thrills as you touch my hair, I want to go crazy in front of your lips and then kiss them, I want you to tell me that I am beautiful even if I will never believe it, I want to envy the world, indeed no! I want to forget the world! I want you to take me away from here, maybe to the sea or even to the meadow, I know so much about you who cares where we are from! I want to sing Wonderwall with tea at the top of my lungs with people passing by and think we are crazy, but they don’t know parrot that we really are crazy! I want to be in your arms and smell you, I’ll tell you the stars from the sky and I’ll try to touch it holding your hand, I wanna feel that feeling if you only taste when you smoke, I want you to sigh on my lips as my friend. I want you to sigh on my lips that you stay.
We accept the love we think we deserve.’ Now tell me, what do you find in this sentence? I think it is a beautiful sentence, full of meaning, a sentence from a book, from a film. But guys this is the reality. We must not accept the love we think we deserve. We have to lift our backs and run to get that love. We must fight, scream, insult if necessary. To me those words convey resignation, they seem to be said by a person who does not know what willpower or dreams are. And we must win that love. With our strength. And if by chance we don’t succeed, in the end we can always say ‘I tried, I put my soul into it and it wasn’t enough, but I was strong.

FEET ON THE CAR

Travel by car. The headphones in the ears. The sunsets, and the painted sky. Lonely hands and tired eyes. The thought of him, her lips pursed. I “I love you” whispered to the wind in the hope that something of me will come to him. When I come back after I’ve been to you, I put that song in the car and imagine you singing it to me. And I am happy. It occurred to me because they just drove it. I am here, you are not.
we are in the car and you are driving, you take me home after spending a day with you, we are stopped at the red light like my cheeks, you look at me and you ask me: “would you ever have imagined you and me like this? I who drive now and when you met me I was just a kid, and you next to me? “. I smile because it often happens that you say things while I was thinking of them exactly the same way, and I answer you that there are many things that I would not have imagined, things that life with you draws and teaches me every day, things that do to me believe more and more that many times it is worth waiting for beautiful things and that if there is one thing that is beautiful but truly beautiful it is you and me.
Do you remember the two of us in the car with the rain piercing the asphalt and the dead battery? But where did we want to go? That getting lost is beautiful. Throw away the phone and let’s go straight until morning. If it comes. And if peace does not come, then we are the only ones. We make love in the car, in the suburbs, where no one comes to see us. Or we go to the park, we roll in the grass, we laugh out loud, we talk nonsense, and you tell me I’m beautiful and I’ll tell you you’re a liar.
The emotions of that evening took us to that hill where we stopped for a moment: with a beer in hand we got out of the car and, you, you approached me, taking me by the hand, and you took me in front of the car. We lean on it and we both observed the city from afar, illuminated, and savored that moment. We felt good about ourselves and suddenly you stood in front of me and kissed me. It was a long, slow but intense kiss. We stayed there until dawn forgetting everything and everyone: it was just the two of us, all that mattered.

MADE BY STARS AND DREAMS

It is literally bad to feel strong and weak to be happy and sad after a few seconds. Dreaming of things that you know that cannot be there and realizing that sooner or later there is an end for everyone, and you can not do anything but accept it. I would like to have no thoughts, have no emotions, be a stone, which with the arrival of the rain everything slips away. But how do you, how can you not think of something bigger than you, you can hide it from your eyes, but after a while it comes back, always there. If the sun hides the wounds, the night brings them back to the surface, and you can do nothing but let yourself be carried away. But what is the meaning of writing, what is the meaning of life, if in the end we are only memories You wonder if it makes sense to spread your own being, or to stay in your own small way, but what life is it if you don’t bring a little of yourself into the world? There is no need to escape, but if everything is rowing against you, where do you find the strength to fight? Let yourself be carried away by life, or take it in hand? It is as if I have understood all the mechanisms, all that remains of life, but then why am I here? Open the windows, let the sun in, listen to the bells ring, listen to the noises, take a breath, don’t think and live in the present
This is what people do not understand about me, I am not satisfied, I dream. Because despite having met false, slimy people, real snakes, I still believe in friendship, the real one, the one that saves you. Because despite having lived through toxic relationships, or not very serene and sometimes almost one-sided, I still believe in love, the one that shakes your heart, that reactivates you, that makes you be born a second time, in that complicit and crazy love. Because despite the falls I still believe in the strength to get up, alone, or holding someone’s hand. Because although the world sucks I still believe in the beauty that is in it, just sit and watch a sunset to find the energy of life. Because although life is hard, I still believe that it is worth living it. And maybe yes, I really dream, but I’m not satisfied either
It hurts me to think that there will be someone else who will wait with the same anxiety with which he was waiting for me. It hurts me to think that his happiness will depend on someone other than me. It hurts to think that that “exaggeration” we always talked about has gradually vanished. To think that there will be another person in your place, to think that he will be able to give her everything you gave her and maybe much more, what she is looking for, what she had always sought in the end, to think that someone will give her that dress that so much she liked it, who knows if she will know the same things she was telling me, maybe she’ll like another dress rather than the white one she fell in love with, and she’ll forget a little bit how that dress, which will come back to her only if she finds the photo she had taken of him scrolling back through the gallery. Yet I know that he will not delete that photo, he will keep it, maybe he will smile when he sees it again and maybe he will keep it a little longer than the other old photos on the screen, after all he wanted it, after all he had dreamed of it in the past. It will hurt when mine is no longer the arm she liked to lean on when she was lying on the bed, it will no longer hurt me the little voice of a child that made her seem smaller and made her so beautiful every time. And it still makes it that way, it’s beautiful yes. There will no longer be a messy bed in my house after coming to see me, there will be no smile that looked at me as if I were her only salvation, and someone else will take my place, take my chair at her kitchen table , she will leave someone else the blue chair in her office where she let no one sit, no one but me, and made me feel important, now she will make someone else feel important. All good things come to an end. But she will be happy, and this is the important thing. And this.
The dream is a defense against the regularity and monotony of life, a recreation of bound fantasy, where it throws all the images of life into the air and interrupts man’s perennial seriousness with a cheerful childish game; without the dream we will age prematurely, and therefore we can consider the dream, if not sent from above, still a pleasant task, a friendly companion on the pilgrimage to the tomb.
Dear ice eyes girl that have nothing celestial,
but however frozen they surpass the ice and they are cold albeit chocolate colored.
Dear sad eyes girl, I wanted to tell you to shine again not to lose yourself in thinking of those who do not think of you not to get lost in order to wait for those who wanted to lose you.
Dear dark eyes girl you will learn to grow to live with fear and make it your strength and your care as well.
You will learn that grownups never cry, but that tears are used to let off steam to regain strength to start over to get up stronger albeit a little stunned.
You will learn to go to fly to fall, and then get up again to turn off only to then return to shine stronger.
Dear hurricane girl that you never stop dreaming that alone you can always do it but you want someone by your side
because together we dance better and together it is better you read a lot and travel too much that music is your world
and books are your place that a beautiful sentence underline it in red with pencil a straight line unlike your life
which is always an infinite curve and also uphill that you change your mood easily according to the steps of your Love based on a smile of hers and his smile that puts a smile on your face.
that you have big eyes and the gorgeous smile that you want to hear your heart beating fast because you want to live strong because you want to live for real.
Dear girl woman, I wanted to tell you to start shining again, because you are not the disappointment of this world but the disappointment is this world which has lost its values which is a meaningless world where now only what is not needed counts – superficiality, of course.
I wanted to tell you to shine again like a shining star to shine alone without needing someone to turn you on, because the real music of this world it’s you, just you and that’s it.
Don’t be discouraged, do not stop do not change do not stop dreaming: go, run, shine take everything you deserve and shine, you always shine,
because they will teach you not to shine they will discourage you because they are envious they will extinguish you
because they are jealous of your light, but you don’t listen to them.
You shine.

CREATIVE SHELLS

When a predator enters the shell in an attempt to eat its contents and does not succeed, it remains inside a part of it that injures and irritates the meat of the mollusk, and the oyster if it closes and must do I continued with that enemy, with the stranger. Then the mollusk begins to release layers of itself to the intruder, and they were tears: mother of pearl. A tight concentricity built in a period of five or five years, a pearl with a unique and irritable character. What initially serves to free and differentiate the shell from what irritates it and distributes various ornaments, a precious and inimitable jewel. So is beauty: it hides stories, often painful. But only the stories make it interesting.
The waves of the sea break slowly on the beach, one after another, and every now and then they find a shell and try to take it away, to take it with them. The waves of the sea remind me so much of me, and you are the shell. With every smile, every kiss, every glance, I tried to take you away with me and for a while I succeeded. But then the low tide pushed the shell away from the wave, and made another wave take care of it, and the wave was very bad, and it stretched a lot, a lot to reach the shell only to find out that it now belonged to another wave. Eventually the wave withdrew. She will miss her shell so much, she will miss it forever.
Observe a child collecting shells on the beach: he is happier than the richest man in the world. What is its secret? That secret is mine too. The child lives in the present moment, enjoying the sun, the brackish air of the beach, the wonderful expanse of sand. It is here and now. It doesn’t think about the past, it doesn’t think about the future. And whatever he does, he does it with totality, intensely; he is so absorbed in it that he forgets everything else. The secret of happiness is all here: whatever you do don’t allow the past to distract your mind and don’t allow the future to disturb you.
We should learn to listen better to ourselves; and I don’t mean to hear what we say, I mean to explore ourselves, understand our fears, our needs, understand what and what is really worth fighting for; like when picking up a shell from the beach we bring it to our ears like children, thinking we hear the sound of the sea, and instead we are listening to our blood flowing. What I mean is that we perpetually live in the illusion of feeling something; but in reality we cannot understand what we are going through either, perhaps simply because we cannot describe it. I believe that the day when, in addition to giving a name to the feelings, we will be able to explain them; it will be the day when all our emotions lose their importance; like when you bring the shell to your ear: if you think you hear the sound of the sea it intrigues you and you keep trying; but in the sound of the blood flowing in your veins you find nothing interesting, and you leave the shell there, on the table, along with the previous hopes
In the last months / years, I found myself in close proximity to myself, I had to make happy and many painful decisions to be able to put myself at the center of my world and not in a corner where I have always been; it’s complicated if you don’t even know where to start. Yet here I am, I have already achieved some set goals and I am punctually creating small goals to be able to remember the fatigue and satisfaction I felt. It’s nice to be energetic, with the desire to live life and always fill it with new things to see / do and zero boredom as usual I was and I’m used to, but it’s also just as nice to rest, get lost in memories or in that exact moment , not counting the minutes or the hours, realizing that in that precise moment, in this little big world, you are there too.
Memories always stop at the limit, like shells at the foot of the sea, just a breath of wind and the waves immerse them and what was outside is now inside, like emotions, when the memory passes in the eyes, Emotions bathe them, And what was inside is now outside.

CLOSE YOUR EYES

Let’s do something, okay?
Close your eyes now.
Reopen them just to read the next step.
You have done? Well. Imagine.
Imagine the person you care about the most.
You are there?
All right.
You are in your room.
This person enters, without making a sound.
You are lying on your back, you think.
He approaches on tiptoe, trying not to disturb you.
He sits next to you, touches your arm with his hand.
You smile, you know who it is.
Pretend to sleep.
He slowly lies down behind you, resting his head in the hollow of your neck.
He leaves you a short kiss on the cheek, which leads you to smile.
His arms surround your waist, this is a safe place.
You fall asleep, in that position and with a little lighter hearts. You feel better?
Now softly close your eyes and listen to me, it’s just four chords and a handful of words. More than pearls of wisdom, they are mine stones that I have dug deeply, with my bare hands, in a lifetime. Do not look for a meaning to everything because everything makes sense, even in a grain of wheat the universe is hidden. Because nature is a book of mysterious words where nothing is bigger than the little things: the flower among the asphalt is the spectacle of the firmament, is the orchestra of leaves that vibrate in the wind, it is the wood that burns, that warms and returns to ash. Life is the only miracle you can’t help but believe in. Because everything is a miracle, everything you see. And there is no day that is the same as yesterday – you, then, live it now as if it were the last and value every single moment. Can you imagine if we started flying between the mountains and the sea, tell me where you would like to go. Hug me if I’m afraid of falling, let us balance on the word together. Take care of me. Time changes you on the outside, love changes you on the inside: just stand by your side instead of being in the center. Love is the only road, it is the only engine. It is the divine spark that you keep in your heart. Do not seek happiness, if anything protect it – it is only light that shines on the other side of a tear, it is a handful of seeds that you leave behind like chrysalises that will become butterflies.
Everyone fights their own battle, you surrender to everything, do not judge who is wrong. Forgive those who have hurt you, embrace them now because the biggest challenge is to forgive yourself. Go through your pain, get to the bottom even if it will be as heavy as lifting the world, and you will realize that the tunnel is only a bridge and you only need one step to go beyond.
Close your eyes, listen to this noise.
Hear the ticking, constant, incessant,
of the rain coming down. Of the beating rain.
Can you feel it?
Can you hear this silence?
Close your eyes, love, and let yourself be lulled by life.
He does so rarely, the life.
So rarely lulls you, that it is nice to enjoy the few moments in which it cuddles you in its embrace.
Like when you were a little girl:
let yourself be protected, stay safe behind the wall of darkness and silence.
So few times it can happen.
So few times.
It can happen…
Close your eyes my love do not think about anything.
What’s the use of being sad?
The whole sky is already crying; You can stop doing it …
Close your eyes, my great love, and run away.
Fly with the imagination spread out on the wings of the imagination,
take height and rise above the seas,
touch the clouds with your fingers,
quench your thirst for dreams, embraces the universe …
Close your eyes, my immense love, close your eyes!
You chase your happiness with desperation!
Stop only when you have grabbed it,
do not let her escape at any cost.
Take it and make it yours forever.
If you can reach it …
But don’t fool yourself: it’s not easy.
Close your eyes, my love, close your eyes …
And fall in love with love again,
Love…

HAPPY SUMMER TIME

I want the sea, the sunlight that shines on the skin, the color of the sky reflected on the sea and that feeling of when I was a child, that sense of celebration, vacation and magic of when school is over and you were ready for adventures, to loves, and to the first outings in the evening, late. Summer brings with it the nostalgia and the novelty of a time to be experienced.
At the beginning of this last summer, I woke up one day and told myself that I had to turn off my mind, calm down my thoughts. It has been a difficult year, 2020, it has been decidedly heavy. I needed to let go, let go in the sense that I didn’t want to worry, at least for a while. I lived, as they say, as it came. I didn’t worry about the alarm clock, the things to do, the things not to do. I needed it and I was fine for a while, to be honest I was pretty good all season.
Maybe, one day you will realize that the laughter at a bar table then stays there and you don’t take it home. Maybe, one day you will realize that those who like you, only look for you when they feel like having a little fun. Maybe, one day you will realize that whoever tells you that that shirt looks good on you has no intention of taking it off. Maybe one day you will realize that someone asks you how the weekend went, just to be able to tell you theirs. Maybe, one day you will realize that those who tell you that things will change don’t even think about it and say it only because they are tired of hearing how dissatisfied you are. Maybe, one day you will realize that no one knows what song you sing when you are carefree, what sweatshirt you wear when you are at home, where you keep your childhood memories, what is hanging on your wall, what positions you sleep in, if when you dine keep the television on, how long it takes you to take a shower and many other things that will seem insignificant but at some point you will feel the need to let someone know. Maybe, one day you will realize that happiness is not everywhere but always a little too far away. Maybe, one day you will realize that love was next to you, even if you looked away and tried in vain to find other names to define it, to define us.
A guy told me how he is without his girlfriend and left me speechless She will never come back, it is useless to delude oneself, because after all she didn’t really exist. What I think? I think I can see her someday, I hope so. And well what I feel, I feel all the love I could have given her. I wonder where all this love that we give to people who are not there, who prefer not to be, is going to end. I wonder where all the love I feel for her is going to end. Space? Land? Abyss? Or in some black hole in the universe, created especially for us, for impossible loves like ours. A sort of container of love, a box created to contain loves that go, that are lost and never come back. And I refuse to believe that my love for her can be contained in a vessel. It is too strong, it is free, without chains, it has no limits, it knows neither space nor time. He will be lost somewhere who knows where to look for what he has left of her. Eventually it will explode into the universe, and every single piece of that love so ineffable and pure will give life to a star. Thus, at night, whenever she looks at the sky, she will not see simple stars, but single fragments that have come into the world to love her.
Do not take anyone to see the sea, which is an important thing, it is not a trivial matter. Going with someone to see the sea is not like going to the bar, to see the shop windows in the square or to get an ice cream. It really is so much more. To look at the sea bring us someone who shares the silence with you, it is difficult to find it, but if you find it you have no escape. You see it as if you were in another world, a world where silence is enough to understand each other. A world of your own. Bring us someone you don’t have to talk to, because the sea is a silent film that surprises you for the colors, for the sensations it causes in your stomach and for the noises of the waves that make you feel in a balanced situation. But what really counts, of the sea, are the nuances. As with everything beautiful on the other hand. Bring us those who have been able to show you that you are worth much more than what you think, than what you would expect, someone who makes you a priority and not a pastime. That person who can hear your innermost tragedies, without thinking that they are trivial and irrelevant things. To see the sea, bring us those who can understand you without speaking, who will pick you up if you go away, who gives you the opportunity to lean on his shoulder when you fall, who if looking into your eyes, incredibly notice a little you. That person who, when he looks up to the sky, reads your name. Bring us someone just like that, who makes you feel chaos inside and a magical person outside, full of life. You will seem to see something amazing, shocking, fascinating and for the first time in your life it will seem like you are seeing the sea, because you have never seen it like this.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: