Pentesilea
Short Story

Though it's late in the evening church bells are playing their slow and annoying sound all over the still air in the borough. Nobody is on the street, perhaps they are searching a place of calmness and peace in a little village quite near the sea. Just as if it is possible.
No sound is in my head except your voice.
I remember it so clearly that sometimes it seems to me even false. I don't know how to manage the relaxation and the sudden explosion of senses it awakens, it's a peculiar feeling though so close to my soul I am afraid of. I am tired of thinking of being afraid, since I know I never had been so indeed.
I simply was wondering about your voice and how it makes me feel, and consequently I thought of your silences, and pauses, and breaths, because when you speak you always breath slowly, you would like to catch the essential oxygen around your mouth and nostrils and go on, clearly, pronouncing your words as if you were speaking to a multitude of people around you, listening carefully to what you are saying. It is quite awkward, you know. You always say things that seem terribly interesting, and later when someone thinks about that, realizes that something always is missing. Me too. And I don't know why.
You have been married, once, maybe. Or every aspect around makes me think so. She was a writer, I know. She could write silly short stories, of a brevity meaning almost nothing, just some words in the end of the pages, to link with the title and close an imaginary circle.
That circle you think you are afraid to close.
She had eyes like a fairy, and in some way she was a fairy. Or better, an enchantress, steadily fixed on your path to teach you how to behave differently.
And you changed, I know, though I wasn't there then.
She had a kind of strange light in her eyes, and yes, really, at my first glance I felt ashamed and contemporarily shy. It is not a competition, I know in my mind. It is just when you have eaten a good food some day in your life, and many years after it happens to try the same one, but in a slightly different manner, something changing in its recipe. Ingredients, I do know, are the same. Surely, the most important one is a kilo of sugar. Apart from that, this food may also contain some poison. I am not joking. Me, actually I have been poisoned. This is why I say she's a kind of sorceress. It's her poison I am eating, drinking, breathing, in every minute of my life since I've been meeting you.
This poison silently covers my heart, deeply penetrates into my brain, and in some ways I can't behave properly, I miss the core of myself, the one I thought I have found when first I heard of you.
She was swimming in your thoughts also when we first made love, and at once you were no more able to tell me about you. No words, no pain, your head was carrying on this proverb as if it was a dogma.
My head was all in a doubt.
She spoke of a daughter, I know. She's your daughter, maybe. And if she never was born, this is why your feeling lasts just the time of a dream, could it be of a minute, or of half a year. Your dreams can never be catched. This is the very reason, and this is what most astonishes everyone who is able to look at you. Not simply your face, with your brown eyes and long lashes, and a thin lip rarely bursting in a smile, and even a sonore laugh. No, never. The very reason is that you are so good at dreaming, you let people express and forward their dreaming, except you. Me, in fact, I do not know what you dreamt about, and if something now is reality. Or maybe we are living a dream in a dream, and when I'm waking up I will be on the soil, almost agonizing, asking for something to drink, because I'm thirst. You are oxigen to my lungs. Fresh water to my throat. She left me your desert.
What will you leave to me? What will I leave to you?
My thoughts are on the edge or your voice, and me, I can only follow my daydreaming.

© 2005

Streaming

Needle and thread because of a botton on your king size bed I miss you it is impossibile not to tell you though maybe you are tired of listening to the same words apparently annoying but always meaning too much to me How can I tell you I need you so much you can not imagine Is it because of your glance Is it because of your lips I still can not understand Maybe one day Who knows Perhaps As you always say leaving me in silence Since the beginning you left me with unspoken words You left me thinking and writing on the same bed among blue pillows as your soul is I have a gift for you Would you like to care It is my soul Can you imagine its shape Can you see its being longtime as a desert You told me once Maybe I can wake up yours So tired So lazy So astonished at first When you always said You are too much You are too much Is it still that indeed or Am I following a dream and it is like nicotine and I am dependent and I can not give up filling my lungs with your poisoning love Is it love And if it is not What is this strong feeling I have inside What is the nice feeling you said to have in your mind Since I can not understand if it is a thing of heart or Are you joking Are you trying to follow your own path I still do not know where it is going If it has an end or you have an aim Can I try to know Can I try to see one day My eyes maybe are still blind at the moment Would you care Would you miss me Would you walk together hand in hand as we did that time on the pebbles and me it seemed I was falling down and you took my hands my arms my shoulder my breast You took me from the soil where I almost was agonizing Can you remember Can you see in your thoughts that day you were playing guitar and the room was empty Nothing else mattered You were just there And me I was there taking photos You filled the room with your songs Your hands slowly picked up strings And me I was fascinated And me I began thinking This is the time This is the place This is You This is my soul This is Love
A Day Maybe Perhaps
Five years are long to pass I miss you There is no chaos in this room Stillness is imperative Silence is nothing I hear your voice in my brain Words Accents Syllables Phonemes I need you It is true I am here Do not be afraid I am too sometimes It is too long to wait for winter to come I want your snow come slowly under my skin and freeze this too great flames burning inside
I can not wait till I will be there again Breath your soul again

© 2005