She was beautiful.
She was cheerful, and so beautiful.
smiled, showing perfect blue eyes reflected all the light that could be parking in the hut at nine o'clock in the morning. In October.
I watched from behind a glass, and warmed my hands with a classic hood, strictly without cocoa. Here, the caps are the same, everywhere. Constant. Boredom. Peace.
I watched from the bar, while absent-mindedly followed the speeches of my fellow breakfast. Yet, as Godano say, "I could not hear, did not speak, I watched you." Then the song would slide into the wonderful time of the crash, but in my case is not about love o colpo di fulmine. O meglio, non il mio.
Infatti guardavo lei, che era bellissima, baciare lui, che non era poi così bellissimo, ecco. Eppure faceva la sua figura, forse vivendo della sola luce riflessa, forse perché fumare rende figo anche il più coglione che c’è.
Bhe, si baciavano, piccoli bacetti … più correttamente lei, che era bellissima, baciava lui, che non era poi così bellissimo. Lui, più che altro, subiva. Con piacere, si suppone, ma subiva. Riceveva. Così, senza scomporsi, senza dirle in un istante che oggi il sole è così vicino e i cattivi pensieri così lontani. Come avrei fatto io, forse.
Lei, che era bellissima, insisteva. Attiva. Piena di disarming joy. Felice. Careless. On a day like any other, she kissed him as if he had just accepted a marriage proposal. From him. That was not so great.
I smiled.
I continued to smile.
I pointed out the couple to the two companions of breakfast. Obviously she has to be the protagonist of the first comments, obviously he comes much later. Late. And evil.
I smiled.
I continued to smile.
Then, thinking aloud, I added just a "Sorry, I'm going to throw myself under a train." You have not heard, because a friend has spilled orange juice on my purse. Shit.
She was beautiful.
She was the sun. The heart of a red
parentheses. My quite a hole.
Such a great desire to fall in love.
(written taken from my faithful Muji, travel companion)
