It doesn’t happen often to say it, to hear it said, and above all to affirm it to oneself.
I thought different things, certainties that collapsed, or at least, so I thought they were.
In the end they were just illusions that didn’t have such a solid foundation.
How is maturity measured? Of course not. I have heard that some are “more mature” than others, especially they are affected if he is a younger person.
But there is no real “more or less”, a “Higher” and “Lower” and when humanity begins to understand this, it will truly be a better world.
There is only the DIFFERENT, the characters and personalities and characteristics.
Perhaps the younger boy who seems more “mature” to us is simply more rational. On the other hand then we have perhaps a person who has not yet learned to reason. Then the limits on both sides. The younger boy won’t listen too much to emotion, and the younger boy will listen too much.
They are two people who have limits, there is no superiority or inferiority. And I thought there was I was wrong for a long time.
Just as I was wrong to think that people should change and mature in a certain way, and make certain choices accordingly.
I said that some women would change, grow and mature after we, from the outside, saw them and believed them to be immature or childish.
But who tells me, who tells us that in reality they have really matured in their own way? The choices they have made are not “in our favor”, that is, they do not become “better” and they try to forgive, to redeem themselves, to close the past.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Who can ever tell us that things will have the “right conclusion”? in reality everything goes into oblivion as soon as something ceases to be interesting.
In the end no one gives a shit anymore, I was forgotten, shall we say, as soon as I stepped away from the spotlight.
I was wrong, because I believed that other people have a desire to become better, like me. but many people don’t want that, instead preferring the older, younger version of themselves, when they thought they were better off, but they only see the positive.
But do we really change, do we mature? Maybe we always stay the same. The only thing that really changes, perhaps, is learning not to repeat mistakes.
I would love to know, really. I would love to talk to you again without problems. But by now I know how utopian that is.
In my opinion you have also stopped reading what I write, I feel freer. Yes. after all, that last fight served both of us. Have you seen? Just get pissed in a definitive way to close and feel better, free.
You seem to be better off than me, as much as I see you in the photos, I see you very little now. I see you smiling, you look better than me,
but if I have my say, I must say that I’m happy, yesterday I saw you in another video, laughing happily, celebrating your birthday. Can I have my say? Will you allow me a second?
I must say that for the first time in a long time I was pleased to see you smile, before I felt a weight on my heart, now I don’t. And it was beautiful, you know?
Then I also wanted to tell you that even if I think of you, I no longer feel that pain, or that “desire”. Yes, if I’m allowed to be direct and sincere, I’ve stopped wanting you even in the most physical sense.
I hope no one is shocked when I say well.
I masturbate differently.
What to say? I always thought you were so beautiful, and as a lover, I liked to imagine making love with you, right?
Crazy stuff, I know, I know. If you’d ever gotten to this point, you might already have found the perfect “excuse” to quit. To think again that I have psychological problems.
I actually had them, I’ve had them for a long time.
You seem to be better off than me.
But you see, seeing you happy did my heart good, and it’s nice to be happy for people who at least seem happy.
And happiness is the best birthday present anyone can have,
I have been celebrating it for a long time, I feel worse and worse,
because I had to start working on myself, to find my freedom, my self-esteem, my autonomy.
It was difficult, it was tiring. Because I thought I really made you suffer, I started walking, I cried, I felt so much pain.
Something no one will ever know, not even you.
Even today if they mention the Radio to me, my heart takes a somersault, I pretend to joke about it but the truth is that being ironic about suffering always brings you that sense of bewilderment,
because it’s like laughing when you’re hurt, you do it while feeling pain.
You suffer a little, in happiness, because we know that life always gives us a good hit, and a bad one, it’s balance.
At least I think so, who now talk to people who have suffered like me, who seem to understand me, who know how to listen to me,
now I no longer want to go out with those I confided in before, now that after having stopped feeling bad, I realize that I was talking to people who didn’t understand, who also contributed to my suffering, after all.
I think I’ll go out less these parties, as I’m already doing. The others seem to enjoy wandering around these clubs forever, drinking.
I am tired, also because I no longer hear speeches that enrich me.
What the fuck did I do Ste? I’ve been talking to the wrong people for a long time, but in the end it wasn’t even easy to figure it out, now that I finally understand who I am, now that I finally understand what to do, my true nature.
Ste, I’m finally myself, and it’s as if I wasn’t before, not even when I was fond of you. But where is the truth? Perhaps it was a me who succeeded, the one today has so much difficulty doing it,
After all, how do you fall in love? It seems that I have somewhat forgotten it, by dint of being without it.
I wanted you to come back just to remind myself of having that feeling, which now feels so… barren.
But now I think differently, you know, I wanted to at least try to think of you as a friend, and I succeeded. So, you know, if the miracle ever happens that we talk to each other again, I could be your friend without any double purpose, let’s say. Although, well, even before I would say that it was so, even if only in part.
But you see, the fact that today I manage to be so happy for you smiling is already a sign for me, yes, that I love someone without having to be with you, as I do with many friendships that never happen to me again. to see, or in any case less than in the past.
Like the ones in Bologna, you know.
I still daydream about that city,
you seem to feel so comfortable here, in this city that I hate, where, however, once upon a time, I thought that if I had been with you, I would have gladly stayed.
You seem to be better than me,
it almost seems that you just need to block those who annoy you to move forward, it seems that you have forgotten me by now, shelved me, and you did well, so it must be done, I agree.
So I too went a little further, trudging, weaker and weaker, knowing my sufferings better and better than even if I wrote and described them millions of times in millions of different ways… whoever listens to them still wouldn’t understand them well, only I can to do it.
And I can’t forget you, after all it was the strongest experience, now, thanks to you I have conquered myself, you gave me the most important thing in life,
I don’t think I will ever be able to tell you live, even if the miracle happens, we will leave our past behind…
but thank you, Stef, from the bottom of my heart.
So happy birthday, best wishes, from the bottom of my heart.
You seem to be better off than me, I hope you really are, I hope you’re not in the middle of balls, I hope no one else makes you suffer, I know that to avoid doing it, by now, you “only” have to pay attention to who you hang out with.
We’re still playing with life, as if by now, around 30, or past, we could still delude ourselves that we can behave like kids. I see a lot of wanting to hang on to your youth, which I understand, but I’m tired of pretending.
I am sometimes ashamed to feel immature, perhaps sometimes I immerse myself in a fragility of others, which does not belong to me, trying to understand things that should stop making sense, with the rationality of losing a bit of what was, stop listening to others.
By now I realize that for many things I am a complete man: with political, philosophical, football, musical ideas, passions, everything. Aware of never really understanding anything and everything, with my idea and my truth,
given that there is no objective one and that the ones we have have been manipulated by our beliefs mixing with those of others, in the end we know that it is the one we accept, we recognize, as far as we can put the right shades of gray, remembering, without even getting tired a moment of the “old adage”: “In Medio Stat Virtus” – or at any rate – the truth lies somewhere in between. That is, not in the mediocre, but where everything can come together.
Where one must stop wanting to be something other than who one is: I am not a seducer, a “macho man”, a man who conquers, who destroys hearts,
who looks at the life of the famous, and the beautiful women they have. What envy, and who thinks like many: “I want that life”, that person, yes.
the worst thing that envy does is make us believe that in their place, we would do better.
I wanted a person, for a long time I felt bad when I couldn’t have her, now I have the rationality to understand everything and I have the awareness of being powerless, and now, I feel the pain as a person who is no longer with me, which I remember with nostalgia, but you don’t feel anything else.
It is elsewhere, it has remained here, among the wounds that cross the heart,
while you think “I will always love her”, you know that there will be no possibility of doing anything else, unanswered questions, endless hopes that will not cease to exist, but you know, will never come true.
“And use your dreams to see clearly, always speak slowly
Tielli wrapped in mystery closed with string
If you don’t waste them, you can give them as gifts
Some will never come true, that’s why we make them.”
Pain is a dull noise, what it means to become adults, thinking about when you dreamed of doing who knows what, now you find yourself among people who have failed.
How many people around me are like me, how many still haven’t managed to do what they would like? Everyone, including even those who seem to be better off, still following the money, and other illusions.
There is nothing to envy to those who pretend happiness.
If there was one person who really had a good effect on me, no, everyone is a slave to some feeling, and I try to escape from the reality that I accept, and I face every day with my head held high.
How much time wasted thinking that a distinction could really be made between people, how much time wasted believing that whoever spoke of someone in one way could be considered better than him.
How long to be told what was or wasn’t worth feeling pain, suffering, like it was really other people deciding what you should shed tears for, yeah, big or small, what the fuck do they know, how are they ever going to know?
Having loved, well, for something big, small, false, invented, everything still existed and the pain was fucking real, intense.
With an anger that you don’t know if it will ever end, as if it matters, to really decide what is right or not to get pissed about.
As if we had to measure the fuck out of suffering, “look, I have suffering longer and bigger than yours”,
“eh, shut up, how can you talk about love for that person if you haven’t been there together?”
As if love cannot be felt except through predetermined conditions.
What the fuck are you talking to do if you haven’t listened to me even for a moment? If you believed I was wrong even before I opened my mouth? So what was the use of talking?
What is the use of telling me that someone is “rational” if he prevents you from thinking about it? What are you talking about then? How much bullshit have you told me?
I understand that you must have had good faith to defend me, but you hadn’t calculated that I want the truth, and not stuff that is false, it wasn’t that difficult to contradict you after all, in the long run.
Still thinking that to be happy you need to “have fun”, have who knows what parties with so much stuff, to fill those immense voids you have inside.
And now I feel almost nothing, to be honest.
I feel so fucking apathetic, I wish for something to happen but I don’t hope for it anymore. By now my head is out of here, I thank the theater laboratory, Mammut, the only things that are capable of shaking me, making me feel something, even if I don’t tell them, I’ll write it up here, thinking they won’t even read it.
or up here, thinking they won’t even read it.
o quassù, pensando che non lo leggeranno nemmeno.
or above, thinking that they won’t even read it.
o superiore, pensando che non lo leggeranno nemmeno.
Am I an asshole? I don’t know, I want to keep things to myself, except here, between the pages.
Yes, I can’t wait to go back to Bologna, I can’t wait to leave all these last years behind me, that I’m tired, after all, of wanting things.
I don’t want to want anything anymore, I don’t want to want her anymore.
I want to go back to where I was happy, where I didn’t think I wanted things, after all. I lived, I worked, I did. I didn’t want anything, I was fine with that.
Lo scrittore Volante 