It’s holiday time. The sun is shining the men are hot and tanned but I am sad.
The first thing to make me sad is probably the fact that I am still heavily pointed at and insulted on the streets. I never really got the impression I belonged here, to my country – Italy -, but every time I come back and I experience the bigotry of my people, I am really knocked down and I feel sad. I can’t go out during the evening, to just walk with my sh0rts on the street filled with people and shops, that someone will point at me, will call the friends and tell them to watch at me… most of the time it’s quite young people, barely 18 yo, from the south by the accent.
It hurts still, it makes me think even more I don’t belong to anywhere, that my place would simply be a hidden and remote hermitage. I considered, when I was young, to join the rank of the hermits that secluded themselves in pace and harmony. It’s a pity I don’t really believe in god anymore.
Then I am sad because I am thinking. I am thnkinking about all the promises that have been made and never kept, thinking about all the trust I gave and now I can’t give anymore after all that happened.
Sometimes I want just very simple things, like resting my head on broad shoulders or arms strong enough to hold me.
I want to belong to someone somehow but here I am, alone again, dreaming of something that will not happen.
I might need change but I don’t know where to start from. Everything seems so difficult and heavy.
All I have is Borges today with me in this holidays. In his worlds I loose myself and maybe one day someone will find me.
I hope it won’t be too late.
Or maybe that time is already passed and all I have it just waiting for my flowers to wither.
Someohow it feels so. It feels so terribly so.
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