Dreams in the drawer, underwear on the bed, doubts come out of the closet. 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 that 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 skin of the train.
I walk away, the body following the thought.
I'm not here, I'm elsewhere.
They are not my feet 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.
Forbidden to leave thoughts.
I wait for them to leave me.
How I abandoned you.


I remember when I clung to pain as if it were the only way out or maybe the only thing I was able to feel to feel something my life has always been as if I was suspended on a thread with shortness of breath and the anxiety of falling and collapsing sinking into that abyss of me the terror of not being able to go back up of not being able to feel anything but anger e hatred of myself that kept me in a cage and the outside world was nothing but a reflection, a distant mirage of all that I could not achieve I’ve always wondered why I run and never reach what I really dream of? because I run fast but the others are able to overtake me in all circumstances? I’ve always been left behind because, too sensitive I feel it all too much and it overwhelms me breaks my heart in two and I stand there in silence in a pool of my own tears I also understand that my biggest limitation is a dark part inside me that makes me see the world black and devoid of possibilities even if yes, I know that’s how it is, largely. but not life, life always has something to offer you even in the darkest of times you can find light in the smallest and most banal things that pass before your eyes every day but you don’t have to you never have to turn away you have to stop and observe, appreciate, be grateful and love even the smallest blade of grass that you step on without thinking about it we are all fragile but the strength is in the brave heart who decides to exist consciously another day get up in the morning and know you are worth because it has no malice hate envy or resentment that is able to prove. and just breathe again so day after day to live.


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.



I've never felt sorry for people who decide to be alone. I do not find it an example of cowardice, not as much as I do not see it in those who would instead get together with anyone in order not to deal with loneliness. I have always been of the idea that being alone is beautiful, it is liberating. As I return home, in my beautiful solitude and silence after yet another chaotic day, I take off my shoes I untie my hair I sit on the sofa and stare at a point in the dark entrance in front of me. It is perhaps the truest moment that I live in contact with who I am. Me and my thoughts, and my reflections on what I did, on the contracts concluded, on the clients I met, on the mistakes I made. I should have been more rigid with the people I met this morning, I should have been more resolute in addressing that issue in the afternoon. I stay on the sofa with my legs on the table in the center, and the only sensation I have is of the skin in contact with the glass. Beautiful loneliness, as you think about how many are around right now having conversations with someone they don't even listen to the words of. After all, I'm almost happy. My tired legs and I, thank you for having decided to return, without further stops for aperitifs, inaugurations or dinners. Without effort, naturally back to live in the moment, of this moment.


I feel everything as if it were empty. 
Nothing around. I fumble in the deep darkness. 
Just a light. 
Just a thrill in the air, 
your eyes looking at my soul.
I have nothing, but I have You,
therefore I have everything.
All around vibrates in the ether only one thing, you.
Like constant beating of wings that your heart remembers.
A vibration. 
A thrill. 
Contact with silky skin.
An emotion that revives.
A kiss resting on smooth skin. 
Eyes that like windows open onto an enchanted world.
A world that is your soul ....
Waking up, opening your eyes to each other. 
A hug of looks. 
A smile and the morning opens ...
Here is a new day. 
Here I look forward to seeing myself still in your eyes.
I need to hold you tight. Dip your face in your hair. 
Smell your perfume, suck you inside me.
A heart drowning in murky waters of sadness.
He gasps, desperately looking for the air of your smile ....
Narrow is the heart. 
I darken the soul. 
Then here it is your smile and it lights up in the morning.
A light breeze brings your perfume so that my nostrils can be filled with it. 
Breeze that is like your caress.
The face of the sky is now day, 
greets those who have a place already reserved in their hearts.
A place imprinted in the heart, 
carved into the soul.


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.



Shadows behind my back,
they give human thrills of presence that I took my breath away. They all crowd to get my attention
and in the meantime they swallow my words.
they play as if they were killer dolls.
They look for my pulsations,
lively feelings to make them crowns of thorns.
I open dull books and they immediately come out as actors from a distant past.
They want to sigh again,
whisper secret things to me,
make me forget the morning sun.
You swing big through the light,
but in the dark you disappear.
Follow every movement unable to resist,
silent and dark.
If you had the opportunity, how many things would you say? Muta, do your job,
accompanying me everywhere.
You are part of me even if elusive,
I have you but I don’t possess you.
I see you but you cannot do the same,
I would like to tell you many things but your ears would not perceive the sound of my voice.
Sometimes people can become shadows too,
you know?
People are afraid of the night. He is afraid of the dark. They believe that nothing can be seen in the dark. “Dark is dangerous: you never know what it can hide,” they say. But they don’t know that the darkness actually hides nothing. In the night the masks fall, the shadows vanish and only what it really is remains. I am afraid of the day, of the light. Because it makes you believe that you are safe, but you are surrounded by shadows, by masks worn out of fear, by repressed feelings, by hidden pains. How much strength does it take to look at the truth when it is not hiding?
We need light and its emanation, without it we do not exist, the shadows, even if so dark, prolong and outline the hidden part of being. Know how to choose your sun, so that your shadow is the brightest part of you. When the sky is gray the world becomes gray and you in it too. Yet, once you pass the clouds, you find yourself in the hidden world that you did not see from the window, you find yourself in front of an infinite white and soft ocean that acts as a separé from the real world. And thinking about this, you begin to look among those few glimpses that allow you to see beyond the clouds and, imagine flying, flying and flying, going higher and higher, beyond the roofs of the houses, above the lights of the city, and beyond above the clouds, and then begin to caress that hidden sky, which until the gray ocean appeared above your head, you didn’t even realize existed.


One morning you wake up and just at the exact moment that fraction of a second just before setting your foot on the ground you understand what you really want, what are you willing to put up with and what not, what or who are you willing to put aside because the thing is to One way street… And everything that crushed you until the night before, made you sick becomes the past. Important and non-erasable part of your life, but past. Something you don’t want to hear anymore. There is a greater awareness of who we are and what we want. The road ahead will be long and often difficult, but having chosen ourselves for once and not others will make us feel better. People will never stop judging every step you take, without wondering why you are doing it, or for the person you are inside, they can only see what they want to see without really looking at you. You may be the coldest person on this planet, but do you really want to hide behind a mask to look strong? Is it really so important to show yourself for what you are not? Do you really think you are that strong? We all have weaknesses, fears, insecurities, but we are never alone. Someone tried to reach out to you to help you, why didn’t you take it? You think you can handle everything by yourself don’t you? But is not so. Nobody is alone in this world, you have to get help from someone, you can’t carry all the problems on your shoulders, friends, family, a point of reference, it helps not to keep all the load on your shoulders, let someone take a little ‘weight off your shoulders, you will feel lighter. For me, being strong is like an armor that over time, through mistakes and experiences, you learn to fortify. Being strong is also understanding, for example when a situation repeats itself several times, you learn to manage it and not feel bad about it, when people disappoint you several times, you learn to know how to behave should it happen again, without spending too much time cursing you. I do not consider myself a totally strong person, we all have moments when weakness makes us fall .. you are never completely strong, emotions are too strong feelings to make you feel “invincible”. I don’t always feel strong, it also depends on the topic, but I try.

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