If someone had told me I would have thought him crazy, but I miss the six o'clock alarm.
I know, some might say: You can get up early anyway.
Those people don't know me, they can't.
Another absurd thing that I miss: waiting for the train.
Every commuter knows perfectly well the annoyance of waiting for that damned Trenitalia train that always arrives late, but don't worry, when you are late you leave early.
I miss the confusion in the streets; certainly not that in the metro yet, a minimum of sanity remained.
But one of the things I miss the most is getting dressed.
No! I haven't been around the house naked in two months.
But before I dressed in such a way as to convey something to the people who passed me on the street, I dressed in such a way as to feel better, to instill courage or to feel pampered.
My clothes have always been part of my personality.
I know, it's stupid, it doesn't matter.
But sometimes it's the stupid things that are missing the most.



Almost everyone has had a dejà-vu.

You are minding your own business, you are traveling to get to school or your workplace, or you are simply moving inside the place you call home, when suddenly something catches your attention. You are certain that it is something you had already noticed before, yet you are unable to remember where or when. You get over it, convincing yourself that your memory is playing tricks on you. You tell yourself that it is simply a vague reminder of a similar event you experienced in the past.
Well, nine times out of ten you are probably right, but every now and then that sense of dejà-vu will leave you with a discomfort that will settle inside you, remaining hovering in the corner of your head. When you tell a friend or family member, he too will minimize the whole thing by explaining that it is nothing more than a fragment of your imagination itself. And you will end up not paying much attention to it, you will reject that restlessness until it reaches the limits of your subconscious. There that feeling will remain, forget about the guardians of your mind.
At the end of the day you will go to bed feeling a fictitious sense of security, convincing yourself that what you felt will pass by itself after one of the nights rest.
The next day you will wake up feeling fresh and reborn.
The world will appear to you exactly as it always has been. That dejà-vu has already escaped your memory, you can't even remember the profound discomfort you felt at that moment.

You will drink your coffee, or your tea, and observe your same morning rituals, greet your loved ones as you leave and head for school or work.

Yet, as the door closes slowly behind you, there will be faint murmurs. They will disperse with every step you take, while for a moment you will seem to feel something that soon after you will set aside as a simple joke of your wild imagination.

"He doesn't remember anything ..." you'll hear them whisper in a barely audible whisper.

"... and you will never succeed, darling ..."

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