It happens like this, that sometimes I think of you randomly and I come back to mind, while I try to live and waste time, your memory is a bit confused but it is there and it happens that I review everything we have been through together, which is little, but you do not know how much a person like me is able to feed on crumbs and believe that it will be forever it happens that I lose heart if I think of you and I have lost you but what can I do, what could I do then, I wonder what I could give you more than what it was and the answer is that I’m sorry because I showed you who I was with my sweetest side, perhaps the one that so few have seen, that I hadn’t seen myself until you. it happens that sometimes, so late at night, it occurs to me how you held me that night in your arms and how my head sank into your neck and how little I cared if my hair was swollen and my legs not long and skinny but you liked them anyway and you always put your hands in my hair repeating how beautiful they were and I remember the feeling of your mouth on mine and even the sound of that kiss that we exchanged so many times, it echoes in mine it lies like a snap and makes more and more noise, more and more until it happens it happens that thinking of you starts to hurt me, and I feel a little dying and a little sad because we no longer exist, you and I it happens that I have to delete the images and slow down the heartbeat that could burst it happens that so randomly I think of you and I would like to know if you are okay, send you a message but I have deleted your number and then I can only think of you without looking for you without looking for those who do not want to be found, and it happens that sometimes life is just a big mess.


Last, hanging dreams

We often say phrases like “I hope to forget all this soon” but, in hindsight, is it okay to forget?

Let's imagine we have a huge red button behind the neck with the inscription “Reset” engraved, will we be able to press it?

At the end of it all, is it okay to forget?

It is normal to want to forget the abuses, the sufferings, the scars on the skin, the grudges, the fears but we are the result of everything that has happened to us, good or bad, we will be really ready to give a damn about who we are and who are we to do a complete reset of everything and become amoebas without memories and without a past?

We think that by erasing all bad memories we would live happier, we will be better people. But is it really so?

By eliminating everything we will also throw away all that happiness we had "thanks" to our suffering, everything we have learned would become useless because it would not be followed by experience, like theory without practice.

Imagine meeting the girl of your dreams or the guy you even want to have with you for the rest of your life and all of a sudden an anonymous you from the future shows up who can't reveal his identity and tells you to let it all go and to flee with high legs. Would you listen to him? And if he told you that it is from this person that you will receive the greatest disappointments, at that point would you believe him?

I do not think so, I personally if someone told me so I would be even more eager to start that relationship.

If you, like me, didn't listen to it, do you know why you wouldn't?

For a simple reason: you do not have the adequate experience to understand what will happen in two months, a year or more.

Is it really worth erasing the memories?

Will we really be happier? 

In my opinion we will get on a carousel from which we will no longer be able to get off, making the same mistake again, again, again and again.

Forgetting does not eliminate suffering but increases it exponentially, up to infinity.


After about an hour, I pick up the phone and look for a CD for the return trip. I am interrupted by a cyclist passing close to me. He is standing on the pedals, he looks like a spastic mechanic intent on working with the engine to increase its displacement. His ass comes out of his shorts because they are ripped. What was the saying? "Better a healthy ass in broken pants, than vice versa". I do not remember.

I decide to go back. "It's downhill now," I think. And while my legs are stiff with fatigue, I see in front of me a branch dangling from a wall. I take it in my hand to move it, step under it and stop a little further on to look at the view. The air is clean, I'm surrounded by greenery. But my brain only suggests the image of a toilet. I smell the scent of flowers, of vegetation, of perfumed stuff and that olfactory mix seems to me one of those sprays that you spray after you take a shit, one of those things that look like a cross between an apology press conference called by the boss and a prodigy of chemistry.

And in short, I'm tired, so I head briskly home. As soon as I breathe a sigh of relief, I'm back where I've been safe for the past two months. I smell the smells I know, the pheromones of my records, my books, my stuff. Just before I go to take a shower, the doorbell rings. I scream that I'm going. It is the delivery of the shopping.

In front of me is a sweaty guy. He pants, coughs, puts down bags, baskets of water. Sweat drops everywhere. I am looking for the mask but I no longer have it. He hands me the machine to pay with the ATM. He runs a hand over his sweat-rotted forehead, then touches his ass and blows. "Uff, how hot!" he says snorting. I smile unconvinced. And as he tears up the receipt to hand it to me, I think the world is everywhere.

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