Ate yesterday's pasta.
threw moldy bread.
drank expired milk. slept very little
saw a movie about a Queen.
Dead mouse in the cellar.
He ate the sheet
on which I wanted to paint.
It was a piece of cloth found.
I see castles but poor people sleep on the floor.
This movie is bad.
I cry in the basement of my heart but nobody listens.
Nobody reads my soul.
Eaten a wilted orange.
Watched from the windows.
Cars go by.
Am I still human?
I bandaged my wrist.
The pain is too much.
I spend time listening to dogs.
I hear no other voice.
The trees bloomed beautifully.
I drank sour milk.
I won't even be able to make a pudding.
My sick stomach makes me throw up.
I don't digest anything.
This food is rancid.
I am not that Queen.
Why am I still here?


Dreams in the drawer, underwear on the bed, doubts come out of the wardrobe. Yet it always takes me twenty minutes to choose the shoes. I open the shutters, another rainy day. The neighbor yells at her little girl, she doesn’t know how lucky she is to have her. Maybe we never realize the little miracles that happen in our life, for one reason or another, we are too worried about what doesn’t happen. I think another day has passed, even at 8 in the morning. I don’t have time to start, which has already passed. Like sand from your hands, you would like it to gush out of your palms to the bitter end. I am hungry for life, I need air, I want to hug everyone before being a memory.
To slide. The sensation of entering the leather of the seat of this train. I walk away, the body following the thought. I’m not here, I’m elsewhere. These feet are not mine anchored to the shiny, dirty floor. It is not my eyes that see the reflection of these buildings that alter with uncultivated trees and abandoned cars. This whole periphery is not mine, the strength that abandons me, the memory that presses to get out of my head. It is forbidden to cross the tracks. It is forbidden to leave thoughts. I wait for them to leave me. How I abandoned you.


We were on the train and we were approaching Venice. After Mestre I start to feel a smell in the air .. A strong smell coming through the windows. It was hot and the windows were all open. I smell better and finally smell the sea. I start crying like a desperate one. All the people turn and they all look at me with concern. But it wasn’t desperation. They did not know that it had been three very long years that I had not seen and heard the sea. So smell that well known smell it was beautiful. And then once we got to Venice I was shocked by its beauty. The very fact of not having cars around was fantastic. Then as soon as I arrived, from a side street, in front of the colored marbles of San Marco I was moved again. Because those colors, those shapes, everything was like that

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