DANTE’S INFERNO

Everyone who thinks of Dante and his love for Beatrice. But no one who thinks of Dante’s wife. Have you ever wondered how she could have felt? She, who lived with a man who continued to write for another. Didn’t you ever think that maybe she could stop eating to become Beatrice? Or crying in front of the mirror, why didn’t she feel as beautiful as Beatrice? The point is that as much as Dante may love Beatrice, he had married another. But it is a pity that no one thinks of the other one.
I don’t even have tears anymore .. Now I keep everything inside .. I repress everything .. It scares me to think, if one day I will ever explode, the damage I will do .. This is why I feel the need to leave .. Away .. Just the time to understand .. And to make it clear that my presence should not be taken for granted .. Only then will I be able to return, perhaps, to my normal life .. But unfortunately I can only leave with my imagination .. And thinking about the next trip I will make a phone call.
I don’t even have tears anymore .. Now I keep everything inside .. I repress everything .. It scares me to think, if one day I will ever explode, the damage I will do .. This is why I feel the need to leave .. Away .. Just the time to understand .. And to make it clear that my presence should not be taken for granted .. Only then will I be able to return, perhaps, to my normal life .. But unfortunately I can only leave with my imagination .. And thinking about the next trip I will make a phone call.
I decided to go out with you at a probably not very lucid moment. Not that I don’t want to see you, because deep down I miss you and seeing you is always nice. It’s just that every time I screw myself, I imagine going out with the person I have idealized and who in reality doesn’t belong to you, doesn’t even belong to you a little. And so, every time I meet you, punctually, you destroy every beautiful part that I have imagined of you as well as every little part that I have managed to rebuild of myself. And a couple of hours later I find myself on the floor in the dark crying for the person that I am, which you blatantly told me whether I am or not, and I lose my balance and my stability. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you, I shouldn’t have even thought about it. Thus, from the euphoria of the day before, the anguish of the next day passed. And here I am, running the mascara on my tear-soaked lashes even before I meet you. Because this time the moment of clarity and rationality came first, like the stomach ache and the heart in the throat. I’ll take a deep breath and pretend I haven’t cried, it’s just allergy. You will pretend to believe it and then you will stab the last stab.

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