It is not easy to explain, to open up, to write with your heart in your hand. Especially if done publicly. No, it is not at all. But, I got bored. I have reached the limit. This is why I decided to go to the beach. The place where I can scream, cry, despair, destroy myself. Immediately after looking at the sea and feeling alive again. The only place that reminds me of home. It is while I am sitting here that I write, it seems to help me. In front of me I have an expanse of blue waters, a sea that hurls itself against rocks, waves that wet the sand and are then claimed again by their master. And the wind that cradles me, gently, like a caress, while the ink stains the white paper. I'm here to write something, something too much. I am here because people listen little and perhaps by reading they will understand more.
During these years I have met many, but many people. Galore, I'd say. But, how many are left? I look around and I wonder too. Almost no one. It is said that the ones that remain are the most important. There have been some people who have remained, yet only until recently. The rest, all in passing, after making you believe the existence of the unknown. Get out, go, run away. Like a shadow in the night. A trail in the sky. A flash in front of the eyes. They weren't even afraid of being infected with a deadly disease.
And now, I still wonder how long this story will last. What do you think I am? A cigarette that you can light, smoke and then throw away? A dirty glass to leave at the bar, to wash and reuse? Or a simple mat on which you can clean your shoes, easily replaceable?
I am human. I am made of flesh and bones, too. And I have a heart. Is it so difficult to believe? I have a heart reduced to infinite microscopic pieces.
Because I too have feelings, I too would like to trust those around me, I too am afraid of losing people. I can hide it. I did it. And it didn't help. People just felt entitled to hurt me even more. More and more. They don't give up. They don't give up until they see you bleed, crawl. "She doesn't care anyway, she never cares." Who knows if they really believe what they say.
The truth is that I am not infallible, that weakness is within me, it lives within me. I fight it every damn day, every single moment. Weakness leads me on dark roads, dark thoughts. Only my head knows how horrible some have been. It pushes me to make absurd decisions. Weakness is a strong rival. Unbeatable. As strong as I may seem, as strong as I may believe I am, I easily collapse when my roots are uprooted from the soil.
The truth is that every time it is more and more destructive, that it is not true that sooner or later you reach the point where nothing hurts you anymore, nothing touches you anymore, nothing demoralizes you. It is not true that we become imperturbable by everything, it is not true that we finally come to live in apathy. Those are all fairy tales. We create apathy by ourselves, as an escape from feelings. As an escape from ourselves, we lie to each other. We delude ourselves. We screw ourselves. And, we get to the point of believing that the best choice is indifference. It is not true. It is not so. Being indifferent is not the best weapon. Being indifferent is the most destructive weapon. It destroys you inside, slowly. It consumes you without restraint.
Perhaps, in all these years,
people weren't that cruel
and I didn't need to swallow all that ash
of dull smiles between the lips.
Maybe I didn't notice and left on the street
stumps of missing hugs,
like mournful candlesticks
turned on to my loneliness.
For this I am satisfied
to warm myself with crumbled phoenixes;
and I've spent bland days,
with his mouth too full of me to talk about love.
It would have been nice to lean on each other,
like hands on glass,
but I didn't have the courage to undress,
because being transparent is fragile,
and it's easy to break.
Fragility is part of me, this is true; I feel very emotional and sensitive, able to grasp details that people are not normally able to fully grasp Even those details are fragile: those little pieces of the world that no one sees, perhaps hidden by the shadow of chaos and lack of time … see them, and I appreciate them. I see the fragility of the cobweb after it has rained, when the droplets of rain run down the threads … I see how easily it could snap, and I sigh, hoping it doesn’t. I am so fragile that when I see a bee, or a hornet, or any insect that could hurt me, that is drowning in a basin, I bend down and pick it up with my hands, because I know it won’t hurt me, because in that moment we are both fragile. At that moment we both suffer. can’t explain more clearly the sense of fragility around me, but know that wherever you look, in everything you see, there is always a crack, a delicate edge, something that if you look even more carefully, you will find fragile. Almost as fragile as you are.
The human being is divided into two parts: one he knows and the other he has to meet. And when the latter arrives, it is easier than you think to understand that in those eyes, in those lips, in that smile, there is the other half. You feel it on your skin, in your veins. You feel your heart beating, you feel a strange interest in that person you just met, but so attracting attention that you don’t understand why. And when you begin to create a real relationship, made no longer of looks, but of constant dialogue, you understand that you cannot separate from your person. Because once they are reunited it is as if each fabric is glued back together, found again. Every muscle, every organ, inextricably linked.Once in a lifetime, something happens. The meeting of two souls who, despite having been apart for a long time, have never really been separated. In fact, only once in my life, I found Love, and it happened at the exact moment I met your eyes. I understood that distances are not real, because all that is most real is our being, very distant from what we see only with the eyes, or that we perceive only with the senses and interpret with our mind. There is something beyond any kind of rationality, and love is the only way to understand it. Once in my life, I met you. But for how many lifetimes we will still meet, always in the same place, that place without time or space. Where our eyes will still recognize each other and the doors to infinity will open.You never let go of your hands, you hold tight, with eyes cast down to others, and it’s an ocean, girl, that silence of yours, and it’s beautiful blue waves, messages of love in a bottle of precious crystal. They are in the courtyard. You are a boat in the middle of the sea. And they laugh, rumor new loves, and they are enough, and they talk to each other, lowering their voices, getting closer, when they look at you, in that corner only yours, while you smile at the ants, without ever being able to see you. Your pain is the ocean, fragile girl, and they would drown, believe me, in your great sea, in your glaring depths, in the wonderful invisible world that you are. Let them believe, therefore, that you are left out, that you are the excluded, that they are together, that you are alone, desperately alone. Let them believe, twin flame! I feel like hugging you, even if I don’t know you, even if I’ve never seen you; hug you and tell you that everything is fine, that we are the ones together, even if together, due to time and space, we have never been there. Yet, that corner was mine, once upon a time, and no one, besides us, has ever noticed all that sea, all that deep, this boundless ocean of ours!
There are changes over time that make you think, make you look up and the desire to move forward with all your strength. Many times it is not easy, indeed, it is complex to look forward despite the pain that one carries in the heart, but life is a passing of time, and it is precious, so you have to love yourself completely, unconditionally, because it is right that it is so. To anyone who has a pain that leads him to stand up with his head held high, I congratulate you because it is not easy to face everything alone, especially when it is a pain that goes beyond all limits. We are all fragile souls, but there are those who manage to do all this with an inner strength that is to be envied. Never let your guard down, even the sunsets end every evening but they are a spectacle of nature. It is necessary to shine with one’s own light and this is the only way to find oneself.
She was weird, or maybe she was just different from other people. She was one of those people who didn’t speak, who tried to be close to everyone, but not to herself. Who helped everyone but did not allow himself to ask for help and no one ever understood why. Inside her there was everything, anger, hatred, love, sadness, relief, thoughts, words, melodies, the sea, the ocean, the spring sky, poetry, happiness, he had everything, but no one could see him. It was an unexploded volcano, inside it had everything, inside it had the universe but nobody knew it …This period, this moment, is so difficult, I find myself in a situation that by now I know well, all too well, this sickening apathy, this gray that makes your head break, this desire to cry for no reason, this littleness, this feeling like this. insignificant. Yet now it’s different, or it should, now I know how to get up, a shower, friends, a bit of entertainment, and nothing goes by but at least I pay less attention to it. Instead, here I am wanting to hopelessly throw myself on the bed and do nothing else, drown myself in a sleep that numbs my thoughts, canceling everything until it passes. Ignoring who I wouldn’t want to ignore. Struggling with myself between what I know to be rational and what I would like. Wondering once again if I can do it, knowing the answer is yes but thinking it is no. Want to mess up. The worst part? Having to hold me back. Being forced not to isolate myself, having to keep myself up because I’m not physically alone, I can’t make it clear that I’m down. Worse still? Knowing they are just complaining. The knowledge that I should kiss my elbows, that there are people who are dying every day, by the thousands, alone, that there are people who are doing endless shifts feeling helpless. Then the future, this huge messed up nothing, that can’t take a shape anywhere, in any way, the many possibilities in which not even one seems to be the right piece of the puzzle, which I keep turning and turning, trying to fit it everywhere. , to no avail, to the point that I will probably pick one at random and break it in an attempt to match it with something that has nothing to do with its half, with the suitable continuum. The question always remains the same, why can’t I be different? Why do I always have to get complicated?
An eyelash is so fragile. I often think about it and realize that I am only a tiny eyelash in this world. You know the exact moment when you blow an eyelash and make it fly not knowing where it is anymore? Well, that’s exactly how I feel, just a little gust of wind and they vanish into nothingness, into my nothingness. I get lost and destroyed easily, but I never completely die. Being the “weak” in a pack of wolves will tear me to shreds: they will nourirannno of my flesh to survive; If not, my vital organs will be stronger. That same concept has been carried over to human beings, I see that wolves and men overlap perfectly, but there will always be one difference: humans are much worse than wolves; humans destroy wide inside!It suffers. It’s everyone’s turn. You suffer physically, psychologically and emotionally, but you are used to it. We are used to believing that it is normal to suffer, but it probably isn’t, we lock ourselves in a cage believing that feeling pain is somehow right or at least justifiable, but it is not. Suffering is a cage that we create for ourselves out of fear of actually suffering, because we believe that being aware of the pain protects us in some absurd and sick way. We believe that knowing that we are in pain makes us feel less pain when something more painful happens, but it is absolutely absurd! We are so afraid that we ourselves are the cause of our suffering.One beautiful day everything changes, beautiful so to speak. We grow up. We grow up and dreams vanish, stop, there is an emotional collapse, there is an interior emptying, a decrease in expectations; negative growth. We grow up and expect many beautiful things, but they don’t happen. It would be better to remain children, remain dreamy and happy, remain fascinated by the little one and hungry for curiosity. What then grows and hunger passes, everything seems so banal and obvious, the wonder becomes disgust and disgust turns into hate. One becomes passive to the world. You become something, but something empty. We grow up and reach the peak of failure, we expect to start living well, instead we realize that we lived better before, with nothing, but in reality with everything: emotions and happiness.“Love does not exist is a jam of the mind of misplaced questions and unconvinced answers. Do you want to take this free creature as a husband until God has decided or only while it lasts? “One of my favorite songs and, above all, my favorite piece of this song (who cares about the title is love doesn’t exist fabi gazze e silvestri) It is one of my favorite phrases because it fully describes what I think about love (if we want to call it that), to love there is no need to marry, to unite religiously or juridically, if you love someone stay there for as long as possible because you want, because this happens, because this is how things turn out: by doing them by not promising them! Love goes beyond being close, it goes beyond sharing pieces of life, it goes beyond marriage. love is a union of souls, in fact in the song the singers say “Love does not exist, but you and I exist”, because there are souls, there are bodies, there are moments, there is something that goes beyond everything, it exists a feeling that cannot be described ba nally from a word, because a word cannot contain a thousand facets, but “you and me” yes, it can contain anything that belongs to two people. You and I are, you and I exist, not love, you and I are something else: you and I are alive!
Not safe as help, as to save you, perhaps from the very beginning I could not save you, from your mystery, your thoughts … bastards able to obscure all that was beautiful around you. I didn’t rush to understand how you didn’t rush to see how I saw you, fragile, alone, confused, but you loved and I didn’t have a message, I didn’t send a message when uncertainty prevailed. Some of the most famous, mysterious, mysterious. Secondly, I was just a fragile troop for this world, a world that is not capable, which is not in the degree of good luck, and you are why I do not love, but you love me, that it is part of this world, so tell me, how is it possible? I would like to feel you at the same time love you.I fell into one of my pathetic periods of closure. Often, with human beings, good and bad, my senses simply detach, they get tired: I let it go. I am polite. I nod yes. I pretend to understand, because I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is the weakness that got me the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often find myself with a ribbed soul, reduced to a kind of dish of spiritual noodles. It does not matter… My brain shuts down. I listen. I answer. And they’re too dull to realize I’m not there …Porcupines huddle together to fight the cold. Their body, however, is covered with sharp spikes, which causing them pain, forcing them to move away. This is the paradox of porcupines, their need to be close to each other while hurting themselves. Schopenhauer tells it and then Freud is also interested in it, because the same happens in human relations. The closer we get to another, the more we risk being hurt. The pains of one become the pains of the other, the quarrels hurt like quills, and force one to leave. But during the winter, the cold continues to loom, and porcupines left alone risk dying. They then decide to huddle, even though they are aware of getting hurt. The dilemma arises from the paradox: what is the right distance to keep from others? Porcupines will stop suffering when they find the correct distance, not too far away so they don’t freeze, and not too close so they don’t get stung. Even if it hurts, we need others. The closer another person is to us, the more we open up to them and let them be part of us, the more we risk colliding with pain. The more we love, the weaker and more at risk we are, but despite our wounds, love saves our lives. We need to have someone close, but without straying too far from ourselves, from what we are and what we want.Men were born and raised in a cave, they are chained, then forced to remain imprisoned there, always in the same position. Behind them is a fire that reflects before their eyes the shadows of what is happening in the outside world. This is all they see. One of them, however, manages to free himself and comes out, he is dazzled by the sunlight and sees nothing, he wants to go back to the cave, since he believes only what he had there is true and good. This tells the myth of Plato’s cave. The cave represents the daily life in which we are all imprisoned. The man who comes out of it sees the truth of things, but does not understand it. If none of us are aware of what is in front of us, it is as if that did not even exist. It is not easy, but how many times, perhaps, we find ourselves in front of a happiness, a satisfaction, a kind gesture, a truth, and we do not realize it because it is easier to settle down in our daily life, in the thought that everything is wrong and wrong . It is easier to be sad than to struggle to be happy. It is a gesture that requires effort, violence, but it is definitely worth it. In fact, Plato continues to tell that if man were forced to stay outside and open his eyes to what he sees, over time he would be able to recognize everything, the sun would no longer blind him. And once he saw it, but never would he want to go back to the cave. Even if he did so, the other prisoners would not believe him, they would even be willing to kill him. This is because it is a choice that depends solely on us. We must learn to love what we have and which, too many times, we don’t even recognize. Happiness is a choice, we must have the strength to make it, only in this way will we find our sun.
Sometimes I stop to think … I find myself lying on the mattress staring at the ceiling and reflect. I think a lot, maybe too much, and we know that too much is good, unfortunately it’s part of me and I just can’t avoid it, it’s as if it were an unconditional reflection. I think back to everything, everyone, I think back to everything that made me feel good but also to everything that made me suffer. Today I went to bed with tears in my eyes and a weight on my chest and I think it’s one of the most unpleasant sensations in the world, you know? When you just want to sleep and switch off your brain, but you get so sick that you just mull over what doesn’t work. I interpret it as psychological torture: to suffer for something, and to feel even more hurt after thinking about it intensely for hours. What an unpleasant feeling of oppression. Oppressed by their own feelings, rather than by people. It is strange to think how something apparently abstract, such as emotions, can alienate you from the totality of the world for an indefinite period of time. It’s almost scary to think we’re so vulnerable, but it’s part of life after all … If it were too simple, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 