July - I’m writing this sitting (literally) on my desk. Mine only for another week. I’ve never sit here. It has always been too full of stuff. But there is nothing now, nothing but a little mirror, my perfume bottle and few make up tools. A red lipstick, pale powder and a brush. I was in front of this window, few months ago. It is chill now too, cooler than an average July night. But of course, last time I had my cape/purple blanket on, now I’m wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. The old man of the opposite bulding, as always, is watching the tv, an action movie, and I can catch almost every word of it. No drunk guy. It isn’t green, this time. The night. The scent. It has the same color of my lipstick. It is asking for more, it is wishing for more. A friend send me an italian song I didn’t know before. It says something like “I began to dream with them, then the soul suddenly flew up. As a boy, you spy the kids playing and you get the urge to go out and try what you are missing, running on the grass, and you keep wanting more, and keep thinking how the hell do they catch their breath.”
I’m reading some light contemporary novel set in LA and I miss you. My friend.
This is being a strange summer. It’s extremely hot for a week, suffocating, and then suddenly everything becomes gray for another one. The sky, the light, the skin. And it rains, but not really, just few drops at a time. Few drops now, few drops who knows when. And in the meantime, you stand still, watching this gray sky, hoping he pours out everything once and for all. But it's like when you want to consolate a friend, and understand that he is not in the right mood to be consoled. And then, you wake up, or in the middle of the day, for chance, your gaze wonders out of the window, and you see a blue soft and sharp at the same time and every object has a new depth and every outline a new definition. It doesn’t last long, a day, maybe two. My mom loves to go to the beach, in those rare days. But for me, they are the ones in which the urge to see something else, to be somewhere else, grows and grows until it fills every corner of what I am. And so, I imagine to live in a tiny apartment in Amsterdam, where I’ve never been but for some reason seems a good place to stay. I would buy a bike, but I wouldn’t use it at start, an unknown city can be a little scary. But it wouldn’t last long, the fear.