A tribute to Andrea Pazienza, who wrote the best scene of my life before it happened.
It has been such a long day today.
At the end of May, when the soul still sleeps and the brain wants more. She's sleeping next to me, breathing heavily on her purple pillow.
On my purple pillow. Everything I’ve ever owned, it's her property, nowadays.
It has been such a long day, started in a limb of still time.
Walking through another slice of this town, discovering throughout pure ways and paths I never saw before, only because of negligence.
Walking my way slowly and without green company those days, with a bottle in my hand no-one would believe in.
With a feeling in my head I wouldn't believe in.
Quite. End of my first act.
(Lights out, gray and blue shades are blaming the scene)
The sun decided to leave.
Leave the town for a couple of everything. The skin is still warm, the muscles tried to relax without challenging the mind, and failed.
Looking at my phone I realized today's Paz birthday.
60, would have been the years he should have lived.
Like the many seconds, in a minute.
Like all the minutes which make one hour.
Time.
It has been not on your side, Paz.
Gentle poet of suburbian realities.
Loved, betrayed, wounded and distressed.
“May, 1991.
I very want to remember everything of you. Everything about you”
That's how the last chapter of my book begins.
That's how everything ended up, one life ago.