And when Berlusconi resigned…

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From a cold empty hostel room, I hear that Berlusconi has resigned. It’s November 12th, 2011. On the same day, at sunset, I'm leaving Italy. It seems that we leave together then. I pack my last belongings, while I leave others I’m not interested in preserving, such as the blue and worn-out pair of Converse, such as the second handed jeans that only cost three euros in the market, such as the sweater I used to wear for running since the autumn’s beginning, such as your memories, the ones Read more [...]

Things that were left inside the inkwell

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The best kiss No, it was not with you. It was with another guy. It was with another Spanish guy. Well yes, my weakness for Spaniards is well-known. It is early in the morning, but the sun reluctantly refuses to rise with spring apathy. We are sitting on the couch, dark blue as the sky that is beyond the window. We smoke slowly, without haste, like is done with opiates. We still have on our lips the wine’s taste. We still have in our bodies the club’s heat. We still have in our hands Read more [...]

I wish you love

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On a day like this one, I give you the world as a present, so you can travel around it... The lamp that illuminates the stanza is a globe-shaped one. I like the warm lamplight. Much better than the ceiling light. The lamplight is always on at night until the sun rises. The sun is born earlier in the Italian southern coast than in the Spanish one. I've had several opportunities to check it, while chatting with you for two, three, four, five, six, seven and even eight hours every night. This Read more [...]