Just Maybe Forse Ciao

It is on a secluded beach in Staten Island Ater the air on the ferry crashed in my face,  That I met her again.  She had been gone,  For a long while. She is not me. - You should know me better than this - She is not me. As she is mad at him-who-changed-her. He, who day after day is the man he was supposed to be.  Isn't that a good thing? I wonder. But she, now, she thinks she is not enough for him.  And I, instead, I thought I was. Good enough for him. She fears she cannot avoid shrinking and becoming one of those he dislikes, instead,  one of those he does not see. Poor thing!  And she is not even sexy anymore, she wonders if she ever was.  She thinks of him whom she will always be in love with,  because he changes as the moon changes.  And he changed her. With all his darkness and all his faces.  She, little girl with silly ideas of romance,  Thinking that one day, one day,  One day.  And I, instead, I moved on fro...

I have never believed in goodbyes. They are simply a way to limit the essentially unlimited range of possibilities out there. We should not have the power to establish goodbyes.  New York. And Central Park. And the skyscrapers. And the Brooklyn Bridge. And the River Hudson everywhere. Unlimited possibilities and yet a sense of eternal lack of fulfilment.   And has everything been? All that could have been? Or else, we did not have the right awareness of how to kiss heaven in a room, you and I.  The power of a gospel voice. And the lakes with the boats and the rocks. An oak bridge in Central Park, facing the South of this Island.  And did you ever wonder how something so full of things, so heavy, like Manhattan, does not sink?  And this city sounds like Moon River, like you. And like Sinatra and a slow 'Can't help falling in love with you'.  'Two drifters, off to see the world'.  And an idea of love, mine, which is not for grown-ups. Way too romantic, t...

If there is one thing I like about islands is that there are four sides of openness, four sides of water, for sides where something broader takes place. And Manhattan is not an exception. Up in Harlem the Hudson is today covered in mist, the bridge is half visible half swallowed by New Jersey on the other side. That is another thing about islands. There is always another shore on the other side, whether or not you see it straight away.  Today it is foggy and it looks scary. Today is one of those days. Autumn is back, unannounced, after the splendour of the evening and the Cosmopolitan and that noisy loud and possibly fake me back in place, today I am freezing again.  Because it is someone's birthday and he is an island. Because I am afraid I grew invisible with the years and I afraid I will never be able to shake the feeling that something bigger was supposed to happen and it did not, as if I missed it. As if someone stole it from me. Him, possibly, without even knowing. ...