Having reached this moment in my life, after several disappointments on the part of everyone and after long periods of reflection, I realized that now I need to be treated with unprecedented kindness. No more anxieties, doubts and insecurities. I just want genuine, kind and tender feelings. I am not willing to compromise on what I want and what I deserve. Committing to capturing at least a fragment of innocence in people and feeling tenderness for it is the only way to avoid retiring to private life as fast as a cockroach when you turn on the light.
There are moments in which I would like to go back to when I was little, moments that I miss and that unfortunately will never come back. I miss that innocence and that light-heartedness that I had, I looked at the world with different eyes, a beautiful world. I imagined already after the age of 20 with a job, a guy who cared about me and that only I existed as a woman for him. I imagined many beautiful things, but everything remains the fruit of my imagination alone. I miss it when I played dolls, when I watched cartoons on TV, the beautiful ones that passed Italy one. I miss living in my beautiful imaginary world.
We played hide and seek within the city walls. I was hiding, you were looking for me. I laughed, you laughed. We spent the whole afternoon even just playing one game, because I was hiding really well, and you didn’t even know where to start looking. In the end, you always managed to find me, somehow, and all you could say, finding my umpteenth hiding place, was: “Oh!” I laughed, you laughed. We spent the afternoons like this, together, without ever getting tired, meeting every afternoon at the same point, without even having agreed. We loved each other like that. We were really too young to know what love was, to be able to say we knew it, yet there was something between us: a thread, a red thread that united our hearts, a little girl’s apron ribbon, long, perhaps infinite, he would have been able to keep us tied even if we had been at the two opposite poles of the world. Subsequently, however, all that I managed to glimpse in our afternoons of play was your miserable shadow, nothing to do with you. And finally, what I thought to be your shadow also vanished, but perhaps it was just a figure of my invention, created not to admit that you had abandoned me. I was left alone. Without you, without your shadow. Yet, I continued to spend the afternoons playing, giving the landscape that surrounded me tiny and timid smiles, waiting for your return. Every now and then I stopped, playing, and looked towards the path that led to your house, waiting to see you arrive hopping, with the hat in your hands and the sly and proud look that had always distinguished you. But you never came back. And I, I continued to wait for you: I could not accept the idea that our red thread had somehow been severed.


Estoy escribiendo nuevas paginas
Nuevas palabras Historias con otro sabor
Otro olor Tengo miedo de tocarlos a veces
No arruinarlos Eres como el cristal
Brillas con el arcoíris incluso cuando caes en tu oscuridad
Cuando te aíslas y buscas la llama en el espejo que te encendí
Que sepas que no estas solo alguien lejano te ha extendido su manita y te acaricia .

He encontrado mi lugar en el mundo: un grupo de mujeres son "donantes de abrazos" para bebés necesitados en el hospital. También quiero dar mimos a esos maravillosos pequeños.
Últimamente se han estado produciendo una serie de hechos y situaciones impactantes, por decir lo mínimo, que todavía no puedo entender.

En solo dos días, me encontré catapultado a un mundo del que siempre he huido durante años; una realidad formada por focos y roles que deben mantenerse claramente visibles, con el fin de lograr objetivos predefinidos. Tengo muchas ideas, pero no me gusta estar ahí para que todos las vean, soy alguien que prefiere pasar el rato detrás de escena, en lugar de mantener a los demás en lo alto de un escenario.

Sin embargo, a pesar de mi timidez crónica, hoy me encuentro asumiendo el cargo de Consejero en el Patronato de un Onlus, trabajando para hacer realidad un futuro mejor, ya que sé muy bien que si no te arremangas, acabas ser aplastado por el peso del egocentrismo de los demás.

Aquí, quizás esta sea la motivación que me empuja a continuar: dar mi aporte a quienes están pasando por las mismas dificultades que yo, pero que no tienen los mismos medios que los míos.


Certain words reminded me of what I wrote today on some protests videos in Italy. Unfortunately I no longer recognize this Italian state as my country because Italy has changed, the situation has worsened and there is no longer any freedom here and I would like to leave. I have fought since I was a young girl for many causes but until now it had never happened to find such a “Nazi” situation in the Italian government. And so I am very disappointed, angry and really sad and maybe soon I will have to look for another place where I can be without being forced to do something I don’t want and can’t do. I don’t feel at home in this country anymore. I no longer feel free and my rights are trampled on and canceled out every day. I honestly believe that only a revolution could change the world situation. But now people are all manipulated and enslaved by social media and do not understand what the truth is. So I have no hope that the world will get better. Italy has disappointed me and I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here again. And the fault lies with a Nazi government that is persecuting us. The news does not say what is really happening, no mass media tells the truth, and they are all sold by now and I am tired tired tired ..


I thank you for your closeness and your support. I believe that our freedom will never go back to the way it was before and that now we are the only ones left who know what it is. I see people very happy to be slaves. I see that everyone watches TV and believes in the mass media, they are manipulated and diverted. The dark mind is now mush. I am very sad and in the past I was an artist but now I am dying. I had an art blog with my paintings, I didn’t sell anything, I gave them away. I said that if nobody wanted them I would burn them. I have no real friends here, I didn’t know who to give them to. I wanted to leave them on the street but there was the covid and they would have thrown them away. I said I was missing, that I would burn them, and nobody told me anything. Nobody cared about what I created. I studied art in London, I refused recommendations, I refused a career. I regretted it. One day I wrote to a psychologist who had an association, I told him: “I give you my paintings, they are 50, you sell them and use the money for sick children”. Do you know what he answered me? “You are not famous, you do not get anything out of your paintings.” I regret having rejected my career. And so I burned all my paintings. My artistic blog no longer exists and there are few paintings left in my attic, eaten by mice.
I had a blog with 3000 followers. I said very interesting and important things but people weren't there. There were a lot of them but none of them spoke. I was really disappointed. I wrote very important things but somehow there was no dialogue between them and me. This made me very sad and one day I deleted everything, I deleted the entire blog. These 3,000 people got lost. I don't know if they still exist, I don't know if they looked for me, because I also changed my nickname because I wanted to close with the past, I wanted a new page in my life. But I believe that past has remained and always remains glued to me like a dark shadow.
I was very sorry to close that blog but maybe people didn't expect a woman to talk about certain things. I didn't talk about nails and I didn't talk about actors, not even about cooking, or about many other subjects that women love. I don't regret what I did but a piece of my life has been lost, destroyed, erased.


I had had to get up early that morning, a little earlier than when I went to school. I had taken the subway direction Jonio and I had gotten off more or less at the level of the tram station.

I had stopped on the sidewalk so that it divided the street in two halves and while I waited for the tram to arrive I had started to think, to elaborate and to compose, in my mind, the poem that could best describe that moment.

It was seven o'clock and the sun had not yet fully risen; its rays touched the skin of my face and arms, brushed me like a caress, like petals of pink, yellow, and orange flowers; the morning breeze made itself felt, gave a lonely breeze, fresh and soft at the same time.

I was, therefore, in the middle of the road, but perhaps it is more correct to say that I was at the center of an antithesis operated by time.

The feet were a little cold, while the hands, kept in the pockets of the jacket, were too warm and I felt that if, at any moment I took them out, I might find that they were melted like candles in the fire.

After a few moments, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, it seemed to me that I could hear the sound of the mechanisms that are located above the trams that run on the great wires that are placed for the operation of the trolleybuses; and at the same time the perpetual and fast and repetitive sound of the contact between the rails and the noises of the tram.

I looked around, it seemed that I was the only one listening to it, maybe the others just heard it, they just didn't care, everyone cared for himself alone: ​​who was on the phone, who listened to music and who chatted animatedly with the person that stood beside him.

Nobody seemed to notice the wonder that was happening.
he sound was getting louder, until I could see the tram: it was making the curve.

Then, for a moment, a gust of wind produced by the cutting of the air of the vehicle, and then a light whistle.

He had stopped: the doors had opened in front of me and practically immediately I moved and placed, first one, then the other, my feet on the plastic that covered the floor of the wagon, a little loose and a little sticky. Then I looked for a free seat on the tram, and as soon as I found one on the back I sat down.

I put my arm on the window and with my hand I moved the hair that the wind had blown up in front of my eyes. Here it is, the wonder.

From the window I could make out the buildings opposite, of that color between cold beige and yellow, but which were warmed by the warm rays of the sun, which gave those ancient buildings an orange hue.

They were like satellites that glow with reflected light.

From where I was observing that scene, I could also see below the tracks on which he was traveling, the electric wires above; around pines and other magnificent buildings of the same color as those described above.

It looked like one of those perfect landscapes for an analog.

There I found peace.



A white room, a window the size of a wall, overlooking a forest and a rainy town. A bed. I am standing in the center of the room. It is the end of a dream and I am aware of it, but what can I do? I can’t wake up, I have to keep dreaming. I see a bucket with paint next to my bare feet, I take a brush and start painting. I paint on those white walls, I paint a purple sunset, a red sunset, a black, yellow, blue sunset. That sunset is taking me to another dream, I’m sure … I leave the house, but I feel strange: that is not my house, that is not me. I am a girl of about twelve, with long blond hair and a white handkerchief tied on my head to protect me from the sun. Wait a minute … From the sun? I look around and immediately realize that I am in an enchanted valley. Huge dragons fly overhead, and equally large dinosaurs graze grass in the vast green meadows. Observing them better I notice something that immediately makes me sad. Dinosaurs are black and white. I immediately run into the house and take some pencils, so begins my journey to that enchanted valley where I have decided to color all those dinosaurs that make me so sad. After a while, however, I discover that the dinosaurs I have colored are dying. The people are in revolt, the hunt for the dinosaur stainer begins immediately, so I decide to escape. I take refuge in a tavern, where an old lady recognizes me. Determined to hand me over to her people, she begins to chase me, I take refuge in the basement. There I find a straw broom, so I get on it and fly away … I run away from the lady of the tavern, I run away from the dinosaurs, from the dragons, from that enchanted valley, from that dream that has become a strange and disturbing nightmare …
“Make a wish.” And then a chuckle. I woke up around four in the morning with an uncontrollable urge to feel the carpet under my feet. So I got out of bed, this time inexplicably rested. A comforting clean scent hovered all around. I walked down the hall regretting having forgotten my slippers – the marble was dirty and cold unlike the indigo blue carpet in the room – and in total darkness I pushed the bathroom door without making it creak. Maybe just a little. Inside, the mirror bulbs remained on. The ones that worked. Was it possible that I had left them? The tiles glistened and flowed along the shower cubicle rails like dominoes. A soft and pleasant steam exhaled from the towels, the sink knobs transmuted into a nice face of a mechanical toad. Next to the soap dish, a luminous inscription: “Make a wish”. I opened the hot water and stroked the bar of soap a dozen times, focusing on something I wanted, but I couldn’t think of anything. There was only bubbles and laughter. I wanted to wake up instantly. But it didn’t happen


I remember my adolescence partly carefree, because I studied, made music and painted a lot, and partly painful, because I had to listen to my mother’s problems, I didn’t know how to deal with mine and she wanted my help and I gave her advice but she did not listen to me, I only served as a container in which to put all her suffering. So I had loves but I didn’t even talk about it to my sister because she was smaller and shy, she wanted to copy me in everything, I was flattered but then it was a disaster when I left because she felt abandoned, and I didn’t have it done on purpose but I had dreams that I wanted to fulfill and she still had to finish school and could leave the following year but then she didn’t come to me anymore and I was very disappointed. I was a happy and angry child, I had long hair and blond curls, I made faces at my waist but I always knew how to collect tears. I was so afraid when I lost the caresses of the hands of those I loved, the beautiful eyes that were the background of my dreams. I have always responded with elegance to offenses, without ever taking away and without giving too much. I tied to silver threads hanging from the sky, notes of soul to make poetry rain, to protect me from the world. I took a train in my mind and walked miles to kiss you and tell you I love you, because I don’t know how to shout. I scream in the silences. I put aside my insecurities to warm my heart, to take cover. I ran a lot in my dreams, to catch up with you and I would always run, because they taught me that love is the only thing worth fighting for and continuing to breathe.
I was an insecure, anxious girl, a good girl, one who always did what was asked of him, who never went crazy, who watched others live and she always remained on the bench, who dreamed of meeting great love. I have lived like this for 15 years. Then something happened. I fell in love. A year spent behind a boy, dignity under his feet, his heart punched, of which only scattered fragments remained. When it was all over I was destroyed. I said to myself “enough is enough! Time to change! ” And so it was. You know, you change by choice, not by chance. You change when something breaks and you are faced with a choice: change or fall behind. I have always hated being left behind, I have always loved running, and so I did, I ran, chasing the girl I had been all my life away in a corner of my mind. I started drinking, smoking, even what I could have avoided. I started to go dancing, to collect meetings, guys that after one evening I would never see again. I just wanted to have fun, feel like a teenager for once. This is what happens to those who spend a lifetime doing the right thing. The day will come when he decides to put a point and break everything. But I assure you in the same way that the day will come when all this will no longer be enough. Where your heart of ice will hurt too much in your chest. In which neither cigarettes nor straws will be able to calm the anxiety that arises inside you, which torments you like a hurricane. In which vodka will no longer be able to make you happy. In which you will understand that all those guys have only used you as an object: taken, used, thrown, replaced, and your insecurity will become unbearable. In which breaking all the rules will make you feel wrong, and more alone than ever. Because you see, you can never allow anyone to love you unless you first learn to love yourself. Another year has passed. And now? Now I am a confident, determined girl, one who does not do what is asked of her, nor who disobeys him in the name of some principle, now I decide my life, I have stopped being on the bench, I have stopped looking love and I started looking for myself, to love me despite all my infinite defects and you know what? It was then that love found me. Love each other. It is the only rule to be happy.


Evenings spent in front of a pizza with the sand between your feet and the roar of the sea. You played an ocher guitar, I with my head between your legs, I watched you sing. We waited for the sunrise to go home, so that time would not pass, so that the summer would not end. You asked me to dance for you, I loved dancing, but with your eyes looking at me even more. You told me that some summers are never forgotten. That certain nights by the sea are for a few. Go home at 6 on tiptoe so as not to make noise, with my hair that smelled of the sea with my skin that smelled of you. Falling asleep and realizing it wasn’t just a dream. Some summers don’t forget you were right. But sorry if I can’t remember your name anymore. The virtual communities that have replaced the natural ones, create only the illusion of intimacy and a fiction of community. They are no substitutes for sitting together at a table, looking at each other, having a real conversation. Nor are these virtual communities capable of giving substance to personal identity, the primary reason for seeking them. If anything, they make it more difficult than it already is to agree with oneself. People walk here and there with earphones talking loudly alone, like schizophrenics, paranoid, oblivious to what is around them. Introspection is an activity that is disappearing. More and more people, when they find themselves facing moments of loneliness in their car, on the street or at the supermarket checkout, instead of collecting their thoughts, check if there are messages on the mobile phone to have some shred of evidence that shows them that someone is somewhere. part, maybe he wants them or needs them.
I would like to escape from here: I would like to go to another world or even, simply, in another place – maybe somewhere far away a place even beyond the sea. I would like to escape from here why all this world I don’t understand it at all: it seems unfair, distant it seems terrible, perfidious. Exhibitionist. I would like to go to another world, but I believe that even in another single era it might be enough for me because I’m not the first and I’m not the last to feel out of place to hate this era and the generation that lives it – my own generation. I wanted to live elsewhere: in other times in other spaces in other fashions, where a like on Instagram was not enough to woo you and they didn’t dedicate a song to you on Facebook but they invited you for a coffee or maybe two – even three – and they asked you to talk about yourself – because someone willing to listen to you it’s the best thing there is. I wanted the technology not to exist – indeed, that it existed yes, but in the right way within the limits. I wanted love to be shown in other ways not with photos on social media at all times or posts here and there full of cheesy phrases or senseless digs. I wanted a world just different from this world where they always kept in mind the right principles where rancor was always neglected, but above all technology, because technology has ruined many things and destroyed relationships, but most of all it made us more distant: because if we are happy, we write it on Facebook and if we are sad, we publish a sad sentence. I wanted a world that did not take us further and further, but that every moment draws us closer, where the technology was used only in extreme cases and not every day to say “I love you” to say “fuck you, it’s over”.
But you imagine a different world where we move our hands only to touch other hands to caress faces and not to touch infinite screens? Can you imagine it how many things would have been different how many of us would have been happy? Because eye to eye is something else entirely from profiles on profiles chat on chat “is typing” on “online”. A different world, that’s all I wanted everything I asked for. I wanted a world where love and feelings had nothing to do with exhibitionism: more complicated of course, less easy, but still more and more true. I wanted a world where there is no surrender for an unanswered view, where you had the courage to go under the house and throw stones at the glass of the window of his room to ask her to open up and speak to shout at her the truest “I love you” in the world. I wanted a world that I have always called “world of letters” where I could smell her perfume trapped between the lines of a letter arrived after a long time with the adrenaline of reading it with the anxiety “who knows if it comes”. I wanted to live in the world of letters to keep all the letters you would send me under the pillow to have good dreams, sleep with your perfume and wake up happy even when I reach out my arm from the largest part of the bed that I always leave you free – in case you come back – and I can’t find you.
How can we say that you and I are not now somehow linked by a chat, albeit virtual, nonetheless real? How do we say that just because I can’t reach out and touch yours we are not real acquaintances anyway? How can we deny having known each other, perhaps in the depths, only because we could not meet our eyes. Yet physical contact is so important, despite the fact that there are so many people around who never touch. What is this contact of minds, brains and hearts? How it works, How could it ever matter who I am physically, what my voice is like or what my smell is like, if we never meet? I was brought up and raised in a certain way. They taught me what respect is, the value of words and feelings. They gave me the ability to listen and explained that it is my right to speak. They taught me what a heart and a sincere feeling is. That not everything is real and that not everything can be played with. I have carried these values, these principles and these teachings with me always! Growing up, however, I learned that it is not always possible to respect all this. I realized that I didn’t have to lose what I was taught, but that along with it I had to learn to respond and defend myself. To ignore the stupidity. To leave hypocrisy and lies to his way. I have learned that silence is often more sacred and cutting than many words and that sometimes there are words that cannot and must not be kept silent. I don’t care about the saying “Always do good and even where you receive evil turn the other cheek”! Not me, I protect the other cheek with all of myself if you step on my feet, if you hurt me and I lack respect. I have no interest in saying who I am and how much I am worth, the only interest I have is to live with these priorities… I prefer to show it instead of saying it. Words are short-lived, the facts remain, you always remember them and leave something of you, for better or for worse. I understood that the words of “people” often hurt, they hurt me too. Then I also realized that from the words of truth to the words of those who are only interested in destroying you, there is an essential difference, and that some words not only must not touch you, but must not even be heard. I understood that I have to take with me who matters and who is worth, but to leave to his path those who should not be part of my life. And from the moment they are no longer a part, everything they say and do does not have and will never have the slightest value or even the slightest attention on my part.


The sky written inside the chest,
where a snake bites my heart.
Outside breathes the gold but inside the blood languishes.
I was like her treasure,
I shone with crystal clear breath.
The soul counts the steps behind the anguish.
He chases people and the sea of ​​nothing.
Spasms of the rain.
The grass blades bend but tomorrow they will be straight again and the same as before.
I turn my face,
the body sends messages,
the code is always the same.
A part.
One condition.
Meditated with a strange thought.
Like a karma video.
It is important to look at it and understand what could have happened.
It’s strange what I feel inside of me,
I have this strange feeling that he doesn’t want to leave me.
I don’t sleep,
I don’t eat,
I can’t understand what I’m getting.
Could be.
Mashed potato.
Stress? I do not know.
The fact is that I can not understand,
I can not think and above all I can not speak.
I don’t want to overwhelm people with my problems.
Sometimes I think of those moments when I felt emotions such as sadness, melancholy, pain …
Many of us push away these moods because they are negative, yet a smile is more sincere after a cry …
Maybe it is it is the sincerity that is frowned upon, in moments of weakness we really show what we are and it is scary for many to show their face without being able to hide …
This is why no one shows his mood anymore,
we all now want to hold back the suffering within us,
while this corrodes and poisons us.
When I want to hide from too heavy a reality I read a book, to enter the life of the characters, I love it, I imagine them down to the smallest details. In short, I put my world on pause and dedicate myself to someone else's.
Last night I could not sleep, page after page I found myself with tears burning my eyes and it was in that moment that I realized I had dragged my reality into my book ... I imagined you and me at the place of the usual characters.
I have not even finished the chapter, which I hate because it makes me feel incomplete, I closed everything as if I were crazy and I let myself be devoured by reality.
I was no longer able to escape.
I cried all I had, I should feel lighter but it's not like that. And now I'm afraid, I'm afraid to reopen the book and find you there, when the truth is that I would simply like to find you here.


If you present yourself with a naked soul to a person, you are presenting yourself unarmed and defenseless. You are giving him all of you: hidden truths, your emotions, your soul. As you do this you need to be aware of it, you need to know that there can be an after-effect of ashes. You must know that if and when he goes away there will be nothing intact inside you because you have given him everything, but believe me when I tell you that there is nothing more beautiful than doing it totally without limits or inhibitions. Without putting a limit on your being. But while you do it you must not underestimate the consequences, the taste and the quantity of the tears of the after, of how much it could hurt the end or discover that it was only “lies of words” to enchant you and make “Strip” your soul. If you introduce yourself to a person with a naked soul, do not underestimate anything because afterwards it will be too late “to get dressed”
I think it’s in our nature to want to try to the end. We are not made for lukewarm emotions: when we choose, for better or for worse, we do it with the heart and soul, and we do not give up until we have given our all, even what we did not think we had. Pain does not scare us, this is our problem, so we are willing to throw ourselves into the flames … All in a desperate attempt to keep a balance, something as abstract as love, which we women continue, despite everything, to believe that it is concrete and stable.
I like the idea of ​​the station, of the train. If I stopped even for 5 minutes at the station, my whole life would pass from there: my life in the past and that of the future. I don’t know why but the stations have something magical about them. Sometimes I would like to go to the station and stop there for hours, just to observe the people, try to understand their gestures, their lives and their thoughts. Because only if we stop to observe can we capture the details. Also, I think it’s the only place that can give me the answers I’m looking for. For example, I could talk to a bum: after all they are nothing more than people who need someone to listen to them. I could find myself in front of scenes of children leaving their mothers to go to work or college or mothers leaving their babies to their husbands because I have to leave for work. I might meet travelers getting on and off from train to train to get around town. Or I could witness the kisses: the real kisses and the goodbyes, the real ones of two young lovers. Who knows maybe I could also find some crazy kid (like me) who has decided to escape but who in the end can’t because he knows that what he leaves is too precious for him and if anything one day he will take a train, it will be the one for eternity.
Or maybe the person I really imagine I’m meeting is a woman. I don’t know what age, maybe around fifty, or maybe younger, I don’t know, I know for sure that I could share my whole life with her. I know that I would not hesitate so much to tell him all the things I have never told anyone, everything I have inside and I know that behind his silences his answers would be hidden. A person who would be able to undress me, in short. To strip myself not of the clothes, but of the masks that society obliges me to wear, that I manage to strip my soul: to dig inside myself. I love this type folks. But I don’t just love the people I can find there, I also like the objects, the sounds we find in the station. For example, his bell always reminds me of the school bell, and how at school it rang when the time changed at the station it rings when a train arrives. The benches make me reflect on how sometimes it is bad to wait for someone or something that does not arrive, and then all the tiredness that we carry with us. Then there are the time tables that remind me that everything has a time: life is based on time and it is up to us to decide how to occupy the waiting moments.
Then there are the tracks … well I love those. You never know where they end up, you only see infinity in front of you and behind you, and then if you see them at dawn, what a strange effect they have on you. And then the tracks made me understand that coincidences are nothing more than a pause: you stop, parallel to something else and after a while you leave. And since for me life is made up of coincidences, because I don’t believe in destiny, I realized that every time I stop I leave with a different baggage, richer or poorer, ruined or healthy and shining, but the fact is that that coincidence has changed something. That’s why I don’t believe in destiny, we are the proponents of destiny… at every coincidence we stop and it is precisely in that waiting time that we decide our future.

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