Habits

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For so many years her nights had been more similar to escapes than to moments of quietness. Her husband slept too close to her and often he crushed her body with his, almost suffocating her. So she tried to distance herself from him, but he got even closer, ‘till, in her desperate attempt to gain a little of space, she found herself on the edge of the bed ( many times she fell down). In Winter there was also the battle for blankets. Her husband cocooned in covers, while her teeth were chattering for cold. She could only pull the covers with all her strength and hold them tight. Day after day she got used to sleep seizing the mattress with one hand and with the other holding the blankets. A habit that went on even when she was awake; always feeling on the edge of a chasm, clinging to life with one hand, holding her few certainties with the other one and having the haunting sensation that somebody was going to crush her.

Free words #26

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Words were fluttering 
on our smiles.
Slightly and swiftly
they followed the playful traces
of our orthographic amusement,
of our syntactical games,
of our grammatical enchantment.
Only the silvery cascades
of our laughters interrupted
the melody of our phrases.
A sudden silence made words
perch on the branches
of our feelings.
It was the sound of our kiss.

Dear friends,

My latest conditions and something that occurred today are bringing me to think seriously to deactivate this account. I’ve struggled with all my remaining forces but sometimes we must surrender to the fact that life is stronger than us. I haven’t definitely decided yet. So I’ll take my time to ponder this situation. I would like to thank you for all the support and the affection that so many times have helped me to bear the hardest moments. When I say “I love you all” I really mean it.

Despite the neighbors

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Rain was humming the perfect soundtrack for that afternoon. On the unmade bed, really unmade, the creased sheets uselessly covered their bodies. They weren’t sheets anymore, but a tantalizing invitation to wrap and unwrap lovers’ mutual exploration. In a grey light warmed by the yellowish orange blazes of the fireplace two people were stretching, snuggling and purring like lazy cats yet ebullient was their search of hidden recesses of pleasure. They kissed on their skins the words that their souls spoke. Their hands were tracing the lines of a superior design: love is the greatest artist of all. Fortunately the pale blue wallpaper couldn’t hear or see, thus it couldn’t blush. The angel in the painting shyly watched the window where rain was drawing its watery laces. The old bed was squeaking their passionate assaults; indiscreet bed! It had witnessed so many battles that it couldn’t help  spreading rumours.

Giggles and sly looks, a wide stillness fading into dazzled rapture and then, again the rush, the hunger of a furious, unbounded tangle.

Hours lingered in an expansion of their merging selves, but clock, for them, was only an object hanging on the wall.

She who smiled

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She was stepping out that day of roving thoughts and dull stillness. A day that wore the misty clothes of her anxiety sewed with the threads of her annoying troubles. But she wasn’t thinking about her troubles. Something was incessantly spinning in her mind. It was such a long time that nobody gave her a present. She didn’t regret that much. Objects had never had so much value for her. What she really missed was that halo of affection that usually is hidden behind a present. “You’re dear to me, thus I give you a present”. Affection, that’s what she missed most. Her soul was like a garden that hadn’t been watered for a long time. A soul’s water is that loving attention that makes feelings flourish. Her feelings were dry and wilted. She couldn’t imagine what kind of present she would have wished.
She took her pen and she started writing down on her notebook the words she had in her head.

Give me a smile and I’ll pin it
on the board of my soul.
I’ll look at it in my bitter hours
just to remember
the sweetest side.
Give me a reason to smile
and I’ll treasure it in my heart forever
just to remember
that there always a road to walk down.
She dropped the pen, she drew the curtain of that day while thinking:
“Another tomorrow is coming. Who knows? Maybe a smile will come too.”

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