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Quanti attimi sospesi afferrando ogni tuo sussurro, sospirando per ogni tuo gesto. Labbra, baci, i corpi si sfiorano, si stringono, si tengono uniti. Passione irrefrenabile, pelli nude a contatto, calore inumano. Sento il tuo respiro sempre più forte vicino al mio orecchio, mi porti a te, cingendomi col tuo braccio dal collo. Le bocche si fondono, siamo una cosa sola. La fronte imperlata di sudore, le gambe s'irrigidiscono. Ci stringiamo forte per l'ultima volta, respiriamo a lungo: ci distendiamo. L'uno sull'altro, gemiamo privi di vita. Effimeri e insensati gemiti.

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Mi sono svegliato tardi stamani, non lo facevo da un pò. Che strano spalancare la finestra, con gli occhi ancora semichiusi e rendermi conto che non c'è il sole come mi aspettavo. Un filo d'aria fredda mi penetra sul corpo nudo, il forte odore di asfalto bagnato misto a terra, mi pervade i sensi. Qualche canto stanco di uccelli si ode ancora, ma è un canto lontano e mesto. Vorrei tornare a dormire, vorrei ristendermi e non pensare, vorrei che ci fosse il sole. Io credo che sia colpa della pioggia, di questo grigiume sparso, se mi sento triste. Non ne avrei motivo altrimenti. Maledetta uggiosità, meledetto umore saltellante e incespicante.

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Adoro alla sera, quell'aria calda, avvolgente, familiare; quella che si sente pochi attimi after the sun has been swallowed by the horizon. When the light is still on and is built on the walls of houses gently tones Alberts, spicy, reddish amber. On the edge of a spring that comes timidly and with some difficulty, but the air is already warm, pleasant, reassuring. I love looking out my window and gaze everywhere, to penetrate my eyes in every crevice of the wall battered in front of the building. It 's almost time for dinner: taste and smell in the air race to excel in hitting the senses of passers-by. Children playing in the yard light emitting squawking. They run, chase and some little ones are accommodated in a box at the supermarket, surrounded by some kind of their dreams. The mothers cook, I also see some of the windows. One looks and tells the boy to go up to eat. He claims a few more minutes and she cries even louder. Someone comes back tired from work, with a bag charge. Balconies and windows wide open and tables set up, poor or so. Televisions blaring give the day's news. Same time, another from another channel to the advertising. A man and a woman are going to sit at the table, both in their sixties, I think husband and wife. Netherlands plump, in a violet robe and battered her with a ribbed white undershirt, but he faded. They look dirty, not rich, but happy. Dilapidated buildings, blinds, which once were bright red, now almost entirely eaten by the sun and destroyed. Smell of onions and fried. Blankets spread out to air. A dog barks, a different answer from a balcony. Pigeons scared shake their wings, pigeons everywhere, on windowsills, on the roof, the railings. The light begins to fade, become stronger than those coming from homes. Someone walks up the stairs, I see it's shadow. Scream, chiachiericcio away, news, boil the oil in a frying pan, ceramic plates that collide with each other, laughter, the smell of summer, wind calm, wave of clothes hanging. Meanwhile, the night descends, and I admire. Surprising humanity.

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And if happiness suddenly ended? If the calm apparent, reassuring, peaceful, makes you feel good about yourself and others suddenly with a thunderous shot tear into a thousand pieces and more? Perhaps
basically thought you lived in peace and serenity, and perhaps you believe that your happiness was arrampiacata on a high tree, wrapping the trunk very fast, crawling and climbing to the top, tapping unexplored peaks, spikes never touched so high that the fear of emptiness underlying literally make you shudder. Maybe so, or maybe you just wanted to believe it.
The truth is that it suits the situation remains in this rewarding and crystallized form, which does not undergo no further changes, which agents outside can not touch it in any way. Why are you afraid of, that's why! If the swirl of feelings and opposing forces and antithetical to cling inside you like an endless spiral was afloat in a world that certainly has nothing to do with the swirl your stupid, you may no longer be recognized, no longer to be loved. Transparency is not something to brag about, it is better to be a misted glass, a thick blanket of water vapor, which can not be made immediately visible what lies behind. Only the eyes can be an indicator of this truth of these secrets locked away. The eyes know, see, think, laugh, cry.
why I keep in a glass di vetro ogni lacrima, per poter poi enumerare tutte le mie verità.