Posted on January 14, 2014 by Flan
What the hell has happened all these months? You were deleting files from the download folder when you bumped into an old video he had taken of you. It was the first week, maybe the second, you were rolling on his bed, trying to hold on to the covers that he was stealing off you. You looked like a girl in love for the first time, the eyes shimmering in delight, the happy and cheeky laughter.
It could have been great. But it wasn’t. And it’s not possible to get back to that promising beginning when you were going on via Flaminia the wrong way to get some Chinese take way, laughing like crazy, two overjoyed aged teenagers on a scooter. Nothing left to be done but same old same old, you try to relive the most memorable episodes with other men: you went back to the Chinese take away with Tom, to the little restaurant with Dick, and for a bike ride in Trastevere with Harry. You tried to see what would happen if you didn’t stay the night or if you stayed even if you didn’t want to. Nothing major happened. Nothing significant or noteworthy, nor extraordinary. A sudden handing of the baton from one lover to the other. In the meantime you keep making mistakes, but you feel you’re actually learning from them. For example, you stopped thinking there is a successful way to find definite love. You have embraced the unplanned and savage way of living of the urban poets, you just perform according to instinct, you listen to your legs, when and where they want to go to. Your ravening and yet tender black eyes guide you.
You have a perfect relationship this time, not with somebody but with your phone. Why not? It gives you so much pleasure and it’s there for you all the time. For example, it has just delivered you some sweet words in the shape of a text from some guy: “Last night I dreamt that I was smelling your hair.”