The blog of a 'friend made me decide to post this piece written some time ago
few nights ago I dreamed about my ex. Not an ex a chance but my first boyfriend or, as Jupiter when it relates to him, "the former" pronounced with a deep voice and trembling from horror movies, to underline the appalling mess that his figure caused in my life.
In my dream, against all odds that gave my bald to 98.9% of cases, he still had all his hair, or Cesare Ragazzi had done a great job.
Even the noble features of his face were more or less unchanged.
When we were together was really a pretty face. Not of those beauties that stir upsetting and women who make them think "what a beautiful mama figaccione me as I would." Her beauty was more elegant, delicate, refined, not a beauty of those who have sex style Hollywood actor, I would say that was the classic actor and sad beauty of Italian fiction of the early evening here. Of those cute, ephebic and without fear of an ass. They are nice to look at but certainly the first thing that inspired it is not the sex. With that face there was 10 cm taller and had done a test would certainly cinecittà got one of those series of 5-10 episodes. With a couple of favorites Jacopo Ortis there would have been better for him while he writes his last letters in a TV series made with his feet, he could be credibilissimo in the leading role in fiction dedicated to the first inventor of the rubber checkering on the accelerator pedal, or with fewer pretensions, as a distant cousin of Elisa di Rivombrosa. As far as I have never auditioned or career on the small screen and was probably a mistake. If he did I'm sure that would have taken and now have a nice nest egg aside. But these are my assumptions that have nothing to do with what I mean.
is not unusual, because, at least for me, dream of the former. Although it is not one of my recurring dream. Sometimes it happens that they dream, that's all, as I sometimes dream to be still in high school and be unprepared for the question of English. But his dream and in that context, I left a bit 'weird.
No, do not worry, I've dreamed of going to bed. I just dreamed that we were talking and dreaming in some sense this is almost more absurd than to be dreaming of going to bed.
I met my ex last year of high school. If it were really in love or not, that still does not say so, nor do I think it'll never be able to. What I know is that it was a story dreamed idealized, perfect in many ways. It was spring and the two went to her scooter. In the Florentine countryside wisteria plants were flowering everywhere. Funny how even today, after ten years, the sweet smell of wisteria and I will remember them. The school was at the end, the exams curavamo close but not there. We made love and went to ride.
how everything has gone on, changed, evolved not say. I have no clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat happened later, only confused memories. I only know that the story went on for several years, then ended. A very sad end for me.
initially said the blame for my suffering to the fact that I'm still in love but I lied to myself and him. Did not love her. I loved her because I had left it. I loved her because I had spent with him, at least in part, a good time.
Then there was a period in which I continued to suffer, perhaps for that series of strange feelings that are wide at the end of every story: the pride, the change of habits, the insecurity of having to face life alone once again, the anger that he had rebuilt a life while I was single and I was doing wrong. The desire for revenge, perhaps for revenge led me among other arms, to try to be what was not. Then the hatred against him, almost to deny its existence.
was my first relationship, my first serious story that ended, and it took me quite a lot 'of time before returning to the track.
I think it was this, the fact that it was my first experience of history that ended badly, with a succession of phases in the tumultuous events of confused, to ensure that even today, years later, by which time his memory is but a distant dot in a completely different life, that his name be remembered with a shudder of horror movies in the collective imagination. Funny how one face of fiction has turned into a horror face.
Then this dream. Nothing earth-shattering if you will, nothing abnormal. I was at his house, his sister's room now that was gone and had become his. And talked. Which seems to me was telling me was coming to the wedding and see his girlfriend in a picture that kept on the nightstand. A pretty girl fresh-faced and cheerful, with long curls and a big smile blacks. I was happy that he married. The room was bright
I remembered, with the strong smell of wood that I liked so much. At one point I pointed out some things to my ex as the room had changed: there was a new desk, stuffed animals had been removed from the trunk next to the bed and the curtains were also different colors. And I asked him if the case was not in the small bathroom that had been one of my cosmetic bag which kept the Pupa and particularly that for a long time I searched in vain.
His eyes in the dream have become sad and I have fixed a long time. Then I said "What a strange feeling. For you it's like in this room for all these years, the time had never passed. I remember exactly as it was when we were together all the details and have continued to remember so all this time. I, however, live there still, I never noticed. I never noticed the small changes that have been over the years, having always been here, but you've seen everything. "
So ended my dream, with this note of strange melancholy.
And indeed it is. The last time I saw my ex was in 2001. We were still together. We greeted each other on a hot July afternoon at the station in Florence. I was leaving for the sea. I boarded the train with her eyes full of tears. We were in crisis and did not know what to expect the return of the holidays. When I returned home two weeks later, we heard only briefly by phone. He was in love with another with whom he had begun a story in my absence. It was very hard, verbally violent. He did not want to see him again. For a long time I tried to compare but in vain. I wanted to see him again, just to get my stuff and make it his, but he refused, even after months, perhaps fearing that I was always in love with him, I could creargli problems with his new girlfriend. After months of trying I gave up. At the end of this romance had given me a lesson: you can not expect people to change. You can only share or less choices, but in the end the only thing to do is accept that not everyone think like you. There is no sense fighting windmills like Don Quixote.
So I never see again, or met by accident in any place. I do not know what he looks like now, what we do in life and if, as I suppose, has lost his hair at that time were already beginning to diminish.
dream last night made me understand why this story, now a uniformative memory of a love that is no longer part of my life, the other loves have passed strong and overwhelming, I still create and melancholy because every time I feel the smell of wisteria me a lump in my throat tighten.
was not the love affair, the hurt of defeat. It was not hatred or anger. These are things that fade with time up to fade away, one of the great gifts that give us the years go by.
E 'the melancholy of the past renegade nice to know that it is not even a memory, when perhaps the sole purpose as human beings genetically Our aim is to be remembered.
It 's the certainty that if now, after so many years, we met again by chance, there probably will not recognize or pretended not to know, when in fact maybe what I would greet him, shake his hand and say "hello, how are you? I'm fine, I still remember you with a smile. "
