When you are 'convinced of being the "point of no return" his life emerges as a bottle thrown into the sea from who knows' how long and what place. You can almost see the moment when their eyes were opened to the world and the only flag to say "I'm here," cried a peevish consists of at least a hundred decibels, with the help of "Ciaffa" played by a pat on the ass inflicted by a stranger with the mask. We remember the first smells, tastes first ... sublime and unique discoveries. Small gestures are repeated, come la mano del nonno nella propria, l’abbraccio della mamma cosi’ incredibilmente consolatorio. Corrono flashback di ogni attimo vissuto con intensita’, come il primo battito di cuore diverso, quello che ti insegnano a chiamare “amore”. Il viso di colui che con un piccolo bacio ti ha portata dall’infanzia all’adolescenza sembra piu’ nitido. E pensare che non ricordavi nemmeno il suo nome...
Il telefono... non ho riattaccato la linea. Chicazzosenefrega, tanto...
Non avrei mai pensato di desiderarti accanto a me. Non cosi’ intensamente e non in quel momento. On the one hand happiness' to find a love lost in the infinite, the love with all capital letters. The other the desire to continue to shake hands with you. Maybe forever. The same "always" to which I have an almost 'incurable allergy. Yet I thought. And when the eyes of the world woke up again, I do not think that. I, the insatiable cynical professional. What does not look at anybody. That which does not yield to anything and do not give up ... ever. The one who is not afraid, who is not impressed, looking death in the face, possibly challenging it. I, who present body and soul until 'I can not get a response to a response. That leaves no stone unturned and even refused to sleep do not waste time. I look in his eyes empty and people outside the world. Eyes that knows' of what horrors were spectators and players. I come back in a house with lights off and silent walls. Who removed his trousers became a skirt too short and I slam those who judge. I always, I refuse to register and do not know what it is boredom. I love everything that changes, especially in my bed. And I do not close this nell'omerta 'and hypocrisy.
The sound ... here it is. My Angels ....
Gia '... self. At that moment I thought of you with nostalgia.
E da giorni mi sto chiedendo il perche’.... O forse lo so.
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