I stop eating when I'm waiting, and no matter if the smell and the development will be negative or positive. And 'when the heart and the mind does not expect nothing and nobody, not even a desire for novelty, that leaves me a bit' go, as if the food was a necessity to fill physical and mental spaces.
not often, Luckily, somehow I always head full of thoughts that sometimes distract me, sometimes they make me company. Every one learns of what has become a shield to defend himself.
My room is shaped like a cage
and the sun puts his arms out the window
hunters at the door as soldiers
I want to imprison
Leggo these words from a post Gan and the others that follow in her beautiful and free translation from French, listening to the original version of the song of Edith Piaf, and a little 'I identify with as I was so long ago, a life ago, when everything was still unclear and I could not distinguish clearly the boundaries of what was happening to me.
Quant 'was unnerving that expectation, that feeling hanging in limbo because of assumptions and few certainties of that time taken to think about today where everything seems so fast and immediately, I do not know if I could stand it again. Weeks articulated perfectly by working days and holidays, from weekend where everything seemed to revive, and each time, then up again and be filled with hopes and illusions, hoping to meet him again, to know something more about him, searching his eyes and to find in a crowd of people surrounding him. The time did not seem to have enough, and he did not come, the music that helped me a bit DISTRAM ', the long cigarette when I want to talk, but no one to do so.
He was there, along with that of his friend cod cute at all: I see his beautiful blue eyes, the small head with fine features, that beautiful neck that seems made to be kissed. Can not well understand what I feel inside, if I feel jealous of those close to or disappointment because it draws close to me or if I avoid to understand not to suffer. I would hate people like him, come into my life and I scour the soul with a look, take a part of me that I can not control. And then, like all infatuations idealized, I remain just an illusion vanished, a handful of dust which adds up to more dust, in a heap now too large to be swept away by a gust of wind. I would hate people like him, but I can not.
I've waited a long time, there on the track crowded and smoky, intersections of bodies dancing and excited, then I turn and see him, my beautiful love, with those clear eyes that bewitch me, with that well-shaped mouth but always closed, the beautiful neck, her hair shaved. Dressed in tight black, thin, thin, elegant and seductive, his movements slow and never abrupt. We look, we sink each other's eyes, then that blink, quell'aprire eyes as if to see better e quel gioco di luci sul suo viso che gli rendono lo sguardo luminoso e trasparente. E tutto sembra sospeso, un attimo dilatato all'infinito poi, un lieve rossore, quasi impercettibile sugli zigomi, e il suo sguardo da timido che si abbassa, un po' si scosta, ma la mente è lì, ancora guarda me.
Era come vivere in una fiaba, passata la notte tutto spariva, lui, i suoi amici, la maggior parte delle persone che era lì con noi, un autentico numero di prestigio. In quel momento arrivava l'ansia, si apriva un varco nella mia mente che non aveva confini e che riuscivo a contenere solo scrivendo, tante lettere, tante parole messe vicine e strette tra loro per non rischiare di perderne nemmeno una, nemmeno un dettaglio di quello che era stato, dei momenti con lui, perché era tutto quello che di lui avevo e a cui mi afferravo. Fogli bianchi pieni fitti di inchiostro blu su solchi marcati, diluito da parole che sostituivano in parte lacrime che non volevano scendere.
E' stato allora, forse, che la scrittura, per me, è diventata cibo.
Mi preoccupo solo in un caso, quando smetto di mangiare e di scrivere allo stesso tempo, ma non troppo, credo che la mente e il cuore trovino sempre un' ancora di salvezza, un appiglio a cui afferrarsi.
Oggi, per fortuna, ho imparato a sostituire meno la vita con la scrittura e a viverla un po' di più, ma c'è sempre to learn.
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