Just Maybe Forse Ciao

On the flight to Montreal, I think of the best I never had.  Could it be alright to think of him, my man with the Cheshire Smile - when I promised myself not to and while suspended mid air across the Atlantic - when he chose to erase me, grounded on the other side of the world instead? Who decides if it’s alright, but me? Maybe he could be the best love I never lived. Maybe I could be the best love he never accepted. As always in my head, we only accept the love we think we deserve. The best trips we never took together. The best sex we never orgasmed to. The best feeling of butterflies in the stomach we never explored. The best words we never breathed into each other’s mouths. The best life choices we never supported for each other. The best crazy and sweet gestures I never did for him. The best rational and trustworthy gestures he never did for me. On the flight to Montreal, I cannot help but wonder about the chances I did not take - those st...

I am going to be self-centred really.  It is the age when you have to mark yourself safe on Facebook because something has happened and they call it or they treat it as a terror attack thus seriousness is ensured and of course it was Westminster anyway. People call you and have no clue what happened but they are nice and they worry and of course you explain you were not there but thanks for calling and worrying.  It is the age when we all knew there would come a time when you have to mark yourself safe in London. Bullshit. I do think it is all bullshit. Not for lack of seriousness of the events but for the usual lack of critical analysis.  A country in deep division, feeding on unhappiness and separation, hate raising and all sorts of social inequalities not addressed, then something like this happens and the label of terror justifies the lack of understanding of what lies beneath.  What lies beneath: that is what we are all scared of. I am safe in ...

- Wait, stop one second please. Slow down. I have a very hard time following your discourse now, I am distracted... - she said. He leaned towards her, the dim lit ambient justified that. And the chit chat of people around them for some reason couldn't really be heard.  - I can only see your lips moving. I am not sure I should tell you this...but I really want to kiss you right now, I really cannot think of much else, I cannot follow what you are saying... - she mumbled unable to look at him all of a sudden. His perfect smile widened, his eyes lit up. - I feel the same - he said with his accent. And he stepped back to avoid that just like that, with a single sentence, he could give birth to a love affair.  ----- I am haunted by fragments of time that meant nothing at all or meant too much, which randomly appear in my head for a song or a verse or a plastered tourist poster on the wall.  Why can't the past just die?

“Looking at the bright side, settling for the best moment, trust this embrace and do not ask for anything else because his life is just his life and even if you want to, even if it drives you crazy, that will not change it in your favor. Trust his embrace, his skin against yours, this will be enough, you’ll see him go away so many times and then one time will be the last, but you say, tonight, now, is it not already the last time? Looking at the bright side, settling for the best moment, trust him when he looks for you in the crowd, trust his goodbye, have more trust in your love that might not change his life, but does not curse yours because if you love him, and if you suffer, and if you go out of your mind these are only your problems; trusting his kisses, his skin when it’s against your skin, love is nothing more, it’s you who confuses love with life.” "Vedere il lato bello, accontentarsi del momento migliore, fidarsi di quest’abbraccio e non chiedere altro pe...

Between jealousy and nostalgia  Is one third of myself enough for love?  Head heart and body  or Head or Heart or Body I would wish to know the story of his life, I wished I knew  I wanted more because there was more.  *Don't you wish that I had to send you away before you decided to leave?* And the Man in the Attic asks me for patience, as good things happen to those who wait his life is just his and it won't change for me of course He probably can *see* me, more than many have, but the time for us is limited, albeit infinite. I want to be unlimited not infinite. I don't want to apologise for going too quick or too slow or at all. I want to see the cradle and the smile and the pink cheeks I want to be unlimited and dense and strong. I want to stop yearning for absolute choices and admit imprecision and nuances.

Sliding doors slide twice, no one says that very often. Once when you make a turn and you eventually choose something and leave something else behind and another time when you live the consequences of your choice and something, a memory, a sign or a symbol takes you back to the other choice you didn't make or the moment you didn't choose to prolong. That is also a sliding door, albeit internal and so much longer in duration as well.   Thinking of missing opportunities today while on the train to work. The past months have been challenging for the weight of missing opportunities, mine and others. And I need to grow up, not thinking in such absolute terms probably accepting that even with nuances I can move on from things and people that are not around. Sliding Doors slide for everyone but the timing is often mismatched. And I need to learn that rejections are not always what they seem and acceptance, as well, is not always what one would wish.  The...

...he says, getting closer and closer  "Yes, your intensity honours me, but perhaps I cannot match it hour by hour every day. Maybe that's disappointing to you.  Anyhow, I suspect you are more advanced than I am -- or maybe just different -- in terms of concentration, energy, and emotional flow. This could mean your nature is to jump right into things with two feet, where as I am more slow moving. Maybe I cannot process or metabolise experiences as quickly as you can. Maybe this is something I like about you... I think it is.  For me, though, something like what we've just "found" in each other needs other to be integrated into what exists already in all the facets of my life, from my psychology to my schedule.  Patience my dear, patience" He told her that with a fierce look in his eyes. He knew how to stare at her locking her eyes to his. He knew how to disempower her with words. "I am not good with patience, I feel like I am ...

Sometimes I don't think I exist, Not for anyone really Not even for those who enjoy my company For five minutes or five hours Or my body Or my chit chat Sometimes don't think I exist, not really For some sick game of reality I cannot leave marks I do not leave signs It's like I constantly walked on snow It looks like I am leaving a footprint  But more snow will come and cover that up Sometimes I don't think I exist And I fear this more than anything Not existing Being forgettable Being contingent Being temporary Being easy to move on from Being disposable Being less than one among many others. Sometimes I don't think I exist So I might just focus on the perks Of invisibility. If any, or of being visible for a very short amount of time In an eternal sunshine of a spotless mind That can't remember the day after, Damaged.   But then the universe sends me reminders after the man with the...

In my head Out of my head Out of my world In my world In my bed Out of my bed Out of your world Talk, please, speak.  Say something. I cannot get it, him, out of my head. I think the time has come,  I think he is there already And I cannot join. I think the time has come I feel it inside my bones I feel him I feel like throwing up.

I can laugh and have fun I can dance and move sensually being naughty with him he lets me play and he kisses me he rewards me he lets me feel his white soft skin he touches me and desires me he doesn't seem disturbed by the costumes, the whips, sexy Anna twisted fairytales the dungeon the dark room the toys the games the skin the dark signs of make up the morning after  underneath my eyes the breakfast in bed without saying anything serious or important but being fine, just fine.   I fear, however, that if I keep lying to myself I will end up believing this fake truth the one where life goes on without magic, the one where I am fine, just fine, nothing more than fine and I cover it all up at club antichrist with dark make up, and I push boundaries more and more and more and more as this is all I can, all there is.