Just Maybe Forse Ciao

 "It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love. It is when we are wounded by our own hands, or by the hands of others, that love should come to cure us - else what use is love at all? All sins, except a sin against itself, Love should forgive. All lives, save loveless lives, true Love should pardon. You made your false idol of me, and I had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you my weaknesses . I was afraid that I might lose your love, as I have lost it now. And so, last night you ruined my life for me - yes, ruined it! Let women make no more ideals of men! let them not put them on alters and bow before them, or they may ruin other lives as completely as you - you whom I have so wildly loved - have ruined mine!" (Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband , Second Act) ********************* It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it. And even more courage to see it in the one you love...

Don't. Don't ask me to pick up the crumbs from the floor you walk on. Don't ask me to be satisfied just with those crumbs , when you know I deserve the whole piece, when you know I want the whole piece. Don't ask me to be contented with virtual talking , with virtual messages from you, when you know I deserve presence , when you know I was used to real presence. Don't ask me to accept nuances of a wannabe relation, you know I can see only black and white right now, you know I need it black and white , after all the grey drama I have been through. Don't ask me to pick up the crumbs you left for me on the floor. Don't ask me to be gratified you are actually leaving them there for me, as if it was a privilege . I give 100% of myself. I should have 110% in return. And you should know, you know that I gave 100%. I shouldn't knee on the floor to grab those crumbs , even if they are all you give me, even if they seem sweet enough to be swallowed...

And then you realize that the winter has come  and you already know that it will pass. You wonder how would you ever be able not to die for the chill. You open up the window and remember how cold it was...there. And still must be. London today, freezing cold,  with Christmas around the corner,  with the lights,  the shops, the people hurrying for presents,  the mulled wine, the hot chocolate. And the memories of last year slipping away,  even if I don't want to,  the Christmas shopping in Milan,  forgotten in the darkest corner of my mind,  the snow and the crazyness, far far away,  from me. In this London at -4°, today,  whose frozen breathe,  reinforce my spirit, somehow.

He who becomes the slave of habit , who follows the same routes every day,   who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly. He or she who shuns passion , who prefers black on white, dotting ones i's rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer , that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly. He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy , who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty , to thus follow a dream, those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, dies slowly. He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly. He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped , who spends days on end com...

Why sitting still, doing nothing, has become so difficult? Shouldn't I be doing something? I watch and picture people. Everyone moves, spins around, everyone needs to have things to do. People worry for things that haven't yet happened, keeping themselves busy with the most absurd tasks. Conversations about the weather, about prices raising, calls in which nothing of any importance is ever said. Inventing jobs, spending unreasonable amounts of money in things we don't need, surfing the web reading nonsense just to justify that we have nothing to do for a couple of hours. For some reason we cannot let our mind gradually take the best of us, in the absence of noise, in a silence that is always somehow bothering us. We cannot let go anxiety to achieve mere contemplation of ourselves , and through contemplation, an effort to listen to our soul that every single day tries and speaks to us of the truth about ourselves that we fail to see and understand . Why sittin...

Cinderella....and the beauty of the Russian Ballet yesterday  night at Royal Opera House. No matter the stepsisters, no matter midnight, no matter losing the shoe...the Prince Charming has the strength and courage to find Cinderella and win her back. The dances, and the moves were just amazing, the musles tense, the graciousness, the levity. And once again I am reminded of what a beautiful world ballet is, how it used to be, when I was dancing, when I was wearing those dresses and the pointe shoes...*_* Reminding me that there is something which survives wars, time, national boundaries... and that is not love. There is something as powerful as love that survives everything. Which is Art . Some kind of Art, of course. ************************* Once said that, and thinking about the brave Prince Charming of Cinderella, I believe it is the right time to post again the Manual for My Prince Charming to Conquer Me or to Win Me Back. No matter the loss, no matter the grieving...

If you want when we see each other I'll give you kisses if you like them... I don't, but if you like them, I'll give you many many kisses...

Amie thought that she needed to learn how to breath. She needed to start breathing again, deeper, freeing her heart, her heavy heart which hasn't given her any break for months now, since Joel had been gone, gone forever. She felt like suffocating , again. Relax, Amie, breath. Fully. Deeply. In and Out. Breath In, Breath Out. She has issues , she had always known that, but after the violent shipwreck , everything had started crushing on her so desperately in need of attentions and maybe cures. Insecurity. From abandon . From lack of proper love . From losing people she loved. Fear. Fear of being unable to leave a mark in people's lives. Fear that people could find easy to forget her. Fear of being undeserving of love. Fear of being able to hurt the people she loves. Fear she will never be loved again. Despair. For having hurt people already. For not being able to make amend . For her deep solitude even among lots of people. Incapacity. To put her...

I had three different reviews in the last 24 hours. First , a person (just like another person a couple of weeks ago) said that through what I say in my blog I manage to give him the hope to be loved as much as I love , with the same intensity, the same strength, the same depth, and also through the purification of the pain that I express. Second, an important person declared that I damaged him beyond repair , that I treated him like a nobody, a nuisance, a ball on a chain, that I tore up his dream of what our relationship could have been, that my anger, my rage, my episodes of madness were humiliating and brought him to the point of not trusting me anymore, because he couldn't endure me anymore. Third, a distant, but nevertheless near enough, person said that from my words one can only see rage and anger and that I seem to speak in code, that I seem to mean something while saying something completely different and that, for this reason, what I say to others is not easy to...

Vampires do not age. Time for them does not matter. And when they find someone to love they are able to create a bond which will last forever. By making him/her a vampire if he/she is human or just by exchanging the blood or something similar. My point is, if time did not matter, if we knew we were going to live forever or at least more than human beings , would we make the same choices? Would we make other people suffer because we don't feel like having the time to explain things , because we urge to feel better, we need not to waste time and feel better as soon as possible? Would we feel like quantifying relationship as short or long terms? Wouldn't it be easier to categorize them as they truly were/are in their essence , detached from time? Wouldn't we abandon the pressure and the tension we often feel when we realize that time is crawling faster and faster and each second spent without the Soulmate is a wasted second , because life is short and we ne...

A nightmare And I am sweat again in the middle of the night at the centre of my bed, the duvet upside down. New Year's Eve and no sound around me. The solitude, once again, is palpable. Like all those years before last year. How can the nightmares of the night be worst of those in the day? I cried this morning, again, in the bed. Realising what I miss and how I will be feeling miserable on New Year's Eve this year. Once again. And how someone else will be happier instead. ****************   How to get rid of these nightmares, I wondered. 1. Identify the cause of your nightmare:  Easy, the loss. 2. Try and change the ending of the nightmare once awake: I did it, there was someone else as miserable as me, because of a loss. 3. Make yourself the hero of the bad dream instead of the victim: Sure, there is someone else who will die miserable on New Year's Eve because of my absence. 4. Try and understand that there is at least a 50%  of possi...

In the middle of my bed, I am not used to roll anymore. My voice is terribly shrill my crying this morning was something I expected. Why the miracle is not here, I wonder. What does it take to have a miracle around here? Should I pray on my knees? Should I punish myself somehow? Or my tears, running wildly on my cheeks are already moving something or someone up there? They are not enough, I am afraid. Go ahead, pity me. I am pitiful today, I cannot stop crying, I cannot stop thinking of a more beautiful, a smarter, a more perfect girl who is not me by the side of someone, who did not understand why I wrote 20 posters to ask a second chance. No, today I need a bath, I need to forget I need to stop crying thinking of someone who pities the way I have become, someone who said I was the most beautiful thing happened to him, someone crazy for me, someone who swore he would have never left me. Someone telling lies back then or now. Someone happy to have ...

Piazza Santo Stefano. Piazza San Francesco. Piazza Maggiore, Via D'Azeglio. And le Torri. My beautiful old mother, who lulled my dreams and my nights, when my heart was broken, but not that broken, like today,  in my previous life. I should have been back to my old mother Bologna today to mirror myself in each and every corner, 'this is where I laughed until crying' 'this is where we had a fight' 'this is where I came writing' 'this is where I had the ice cream' 'this used to be my library'... And the aperitifs, my friends, the lectures, the exams. And the endless conversation in the House of Love, Jennyfer on Via Indipendenza, and the house of someone that I am bound to forget. And the love-making, the crisis, the million books I bought in Via Zamboni. And the lunches at To Steki, with that other person, who never accepted I was in love. And the parties, the vodka, all my absurd clothes. And the crazy nights wi...

And you hurry to the gates,  you were stuck in traffic. You pray for the flight to be late. You run and run and run until you don't have any breathe left. You sweat and lose eye-sight,  you cannot run faster,  you blame your short breathe,  you blame yourself for not having left earlier. You barely look around. You hate this airport,  fuck off Stansted, with the gates so far away. You hope you will make it. You reach the gate 5 minutes after the closing time. GATE 55 to Bologna CLOSED. No one there, the plane almost taking off. You crush on a chair, you cry.  No-one in the lounge. You cry for almost 20 minutes, your face is red your contact lenses are burning,  you are devastated. You needed that flight, you needed your friends. And you take the phone and you realize ......you have no one to call. And you cannot help but thinking that the first person  you would have called would have said ' Povera amore, calma' ,...

Terravision reminded me of the travel I booked on the 7th of August 2009 from Liverpool Street to Stansted Airport. 8.35 AM, return the same day at 11.00. How improper. And tonight Stansted Airport for the first time after...after. The same Costa Coffee where I am not able to sit anymore. I feel sick, like vomiting. I remember. I remember fake memories of a smiling he and an emotional she, brave enough to break the ice by kissing him. I remember. Stansted Airport this evening. Always the same, always similar to itself in the past. Watching passengers come and gone day by day. Watching kisses of lovers, watching my love blossoming in front of the arrivals hall. And forgetting, erasing all of it by midnight. And it is not the only one who forgets that easily. I walk down the corridors, hurrying to the gates, with the same lilac suitcase, the one who witnessed all my travels from this airport, when I used to run making time crawl faster and faster towards the moment I c...

Let me be your light. Let me light up whatever you have trapped inside you. Let me light up every corner of your dark soul. Let me be the light disturbing your eyes in the morning, let me wake you up with that light. Let me show all the beauty that I see, in the world, in all the love I can give, in all the love I want. Let me show everything which is blessed by light in you in me, in the world around you. Let me show you all the lights fighting the darkness of your heart. Let me show you how. Let me be your light at night, while reading poetry and drinking wine , let me show you the light in a painting, in a photo, in a book. Please, let me be. Let me teach you how to empower yourself through that light. Let me teach you by inspiring in you the will to be better. Let me show you your potential, your light. Let me talk to the inner parts of yourself and persuade them to come out. Let me flood your soul of light, so that you can understand that happiness...

Fear. "I could have. What does this phrase mean? At any given moment in our lives, there are certain things that could have happened but didn’t. The magic moments go unrecognized, and then suddenly, the hand of destiny changes everything. But love is much like a dam: if you allow a tiny crack to form through which only a trickle of water can pass, that trickle will quickly bring down the whole structure, and soon no one will be able to control the force of the current. Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows. I’m going to fight for your love. There are some things in life that are worth fighting for to the end. You are worth it". (Paulo Coelho, By the river of River Piedra, I sat down and wept ) ************ Fear to love. Fear of love. Fear to apologise. Fear to let go. Fear to be in pain. Fear to confess. Fear to talk too much. Fear to say too little. Fear of honesty. Fear of 'wrong moments'. Fear of lost moments...

A backlight picture, the sea on the horizon, distant shores, I have never seen. A face of which I possessed every inch, I kissed every inch, in dreams as in reality, another far away reality. A  sad light in those eyes, a light I don't remember. Wrinkling half smile , tired skin, receding hairline, lifeless eyes, blue eyes deprived of the light they used to have before, also in pictures, not a single cell of a known person anymore, a soul at its sunset, the sunset on that sea at the back. And I remember how beautiful...how beautiful... Pathetic scraping of a fake satisfaction, of a fake pride , in those lined eyes, a ghost of the Christmas past, only willing to show off , show off to the world that everything is ok. A stranger. Backlight photo of a stranger, who used to be daily life. With an unknown sea at the back, stranger and  hostile like me.

I am not the centre of my world. I have never been the centre of my world. Why would I stay in the centre, after all? If my world can be imagined as a circumference , then I need to stay in each and every spot of it and inside the circle as well. Everywhere in my world, to build it, control it, secure it, feed it, make it a beautiful garden. I cannot just stay at the centre and miss all other spots. But I will always look at the centre , while digging to remove the dead grass and to plant new flowers on the various rays of my circumference, equidistant from the centre. I will always have my mind on the centre of my world, where someone will stay, stay still, looking around, not on a pedestal , not at all, but on the ground, never too far to be reached , no matter what I am working on in my world. Someone always near enough to be always reacheable by me through love and for my needing lips. In the centre of my world someone will stay. And the centre of my...

Amie was drinking her peppermint mocha at Starbucks in a crazily cold morning. She had been talking and talking with her psychologist about strength and weaknesses, about him, about love, about being vulnerable in love. She was startled, cause she couldn't say whether or not she was still in love. She tried, she was trying to put her mind on it and kept thinking: 'Say, it, say it, admit it' . She was still in love with him, wasn't she? 'Amie, do you still love Joel?' . Again she heard her therapist's voice enquiring about her feeling. Why on heart couldn't she just enjoy that Mocha. She loved Christmas coffees at Starbucks. She had not been able to answer, how could she? 'He is so different from what he used to be', she had said . Right, she thought, and so what? If he came back, if he asked for another chance,  the same chance she couldn't gain , would she refuse it? Would she? Would you, Amie? 'N..No...', 'No, ...

'Please love me', she thought . 'Please, please, admit that I was the most important, I still am the most important'. Morning. Amie felt not good, not good at all. She had had another sleepless night. She couldn't understand people's behaviours. 'Truth is I cannot understand him', she muttered. People sometimes change the way they are, and this seems to happen always when they are not aware of it. And we try so hard to remain attached to one person's past , to the way he or she used to be with us, for us, next to us, because we cannot accept the other person is so changed. There are other lives to be lived, and someone manages better than others to switch on a new life by switching off the old one. Amie couldn't. 'Please, say you miss me, say you need me, please think, realize that we were special, so much more special than you admitted'. 'Please reconsider us, please.' 'Please, say it, say that I was your great ...

You have to take risks. in Brida , there are two ways to recognize your soulmate .   Through Magic – meaning : entering a state of trance in which you can see a bright spot over the shoulder of your soulmate –  or, by taking risks , by making mistakes, by being with the wrong people until you find your soul mate. If people really paid attention in their everyday lives, they discover that a magic moment in which you can revolutionize your entire life , always, always occurs.   Every day, we try to pretend that we haven’t perceived that moment, that it doesn’t exist – that today is the same as yesterday and will be the same as tomorrow, just with some difficulties, or easiness of difference. But that moment exists –a moment in which you have to shed the clothes that became your skin and put on the new ones. By recognizing that moment, you decide to take the risk.  And you have the chance every single day. If only I had the strength, you see... ...

A picture I never saw,  of a man, that man, and a girl, that girl,  who was not me. In dreams, while I am sweating in bed. 2:34 in the morning. I can't believe it, I don't want to believe it,  he must have travelled so far to reach her,  this time, again, for him a serious love,  a new love,  a winning love. And she is not me. She is Her . With a face whose not hers,  but that I used to fear. She wins him,  in that picture, he looks at her,  she holds his hands,  both of them, half naked. 2:34 in the morning I need to wake up. Wake up and face reality,  reality has not such a picture,  such a website,  such a hurting image of a love which has overcome me. Face the nightmare,  remove that shot of the life of a man,  whom I never won,  with a girl, a girl I used to fear, yes, another Muse for him, a girl who is not the one beside him, out there, though. She just lent a ...

If I can think of the question, somewhere out in the universe, there is the answer. There must be an answer,  that I am not able to see, or hear because I don't speak all the world's languages. And to speak the question out I would need  a kindred spirit , the soulmate, or just whoever can read souls and inspire hearts. Other Muses . People not afraid of making the most of their feelings,  spirits not afraid of disturbing the eternity to seek some sort of comfort comfort also in the pain. Comfort in the pain. For knowing that even sufference makes us better and bolder, sometimes. Comfort in knowing that if I dared to love someone who did not want to be loved by me,  i f I dared to cry out my soul just to make that person understand how much I was willing to give if I dared to extract my heart and plunge it in his hands without caring that it could fall and break - as it did -  if I dared, just because I dared,  I can b...

If someone does not realize to have lost something, is this something really lost? If someone cannot think of a loss as a loss, did he lose after all? A very close friend of mine told me that if someone cannot realize how much he lost, and how that loss is going to affect his future life, he or she has actually lost twice . They lost the opportunity to live and understand that thing fully when they had it and they lost the chance to appreciate how much that thing could enrich their life once they have lost it. On the other hand it is also true that w e never understand what we truly need in this world until we lose it. Therefore, it seems logical to me that in order to understand what we truly need, we have first to acknowledge that we lost something , and only afterwards realize whether or not what we lost corresponded to something we needed. The previous statement needs to be corrected then, and we should say that w e never understand what we truly nee...

"Anyone who comes into contact with this force, however unknowingly, is bound to it for the rest of their life. It can be your master or your slave; you can transform it into a magical force or use it all your life without ever realising its immense power. This force is everything around us (...) It can be killed, crushed, hidden, even denied. It can lie dormant for years, forgotten in a corner somewhere; we can treat it in whichever way we want, but once someone has experienced this force, he or she will never be able to forget it." "What force is that?" "You know perfectly well what that force is." Yes, Brida knew. Sex. "Both men and women are extremely vulnerable to the force of sex, because, during sex, pleasure and fear are present in equal measure ." "Why do pleasure and fear go together?" "Because anyone who comes into contact with sex knows that they are dealing with something which only happens in all its intensity w...