When he laughs, all in him laughs: eyes, face, hands. 

His hands, long and tapered fingers, held and stroked me. Sometimes struck me hard, but was a moment then started again to laugh.

I always wake him up, too early in the morning. I try to wait as much as I can, but often I can’t help it: seeing him motionless unnerves me. I love him. I’m his mother, his friend, his daughter, I’m hm..

On the other and, he belongs to no one, he’s a capricious kid. Cruel but undefended, still brings in his eyes the shadow of the first betrayal suffered, and even then he promises, forgets and disappoints too.

This morning he woke up early, I observed him shaving, silent in the background. His hands occupied in slow and careful gestures drawing an habitual spell, broke sharply by the hateful fragrance of the aftershave, that it spreads always too strongly and in unnatural way, too much that covers completely his realsmell. That’s all that remains in the room to keep me company while he’s out, somewhere.

I wonder if he’ll come back, he doesn’t invite me anymore to go out with him. Too much work, too much thoughts, the kid is being washed away in the morning together with the dreams and the shaving cream, he makes an emotionless face, a stroke, a smile and “Hi beautiful”, and goes.

One day he came back with a girl. She wasn’t beautiful, but something in her didn’t allow me to hate her. She had a clear and light gaze that rested on yours and it makes you want to tell her a secret. I avoided her that evening. But we went together in the park nearby the morning after. She and I: maybe she was trying to be forgiven because she slept with him, probably she was trying to be accepted by me, despite everything. She probably just can’t stay there and watch his closed eyelids, trying to imagine the dreams where he’d never let her enter.

It was nice. I almost forgot how much I loved the cold air of the first hours of the day. I remember: she turned and looked back at me for one moment- in her gaze a dare- and then, without talking, started to run. Like a child, her arms extended like an airplane, irresistible.

I kissed her, at the end of the run. Lying in the field, we are both out of breath. I licked her left cheek, it tasted of cherries. She didn’t dry her face. I’d have smiled, if I had known how to do it.

Once at home she said me goodbye, and told me that she was going away. She left a note. She didn’t try to wake up him. The last thing she did was wrap her hands around my face, getting closer, putting her nose up against mine. “Hi beautiful, bite your owner, sometimes”.

I haven’t seen her since that day.


I still wonder what she wrote in that note.


"No kissing, my sweet M.,

even those with you are little disappointments,

inflicted to avoid possible future illusions.

Funny, when you know that are exactly those that worth it. 

You can love also in this way, if you want. You choose.

But I love who love as Luna, without moderation of emotion. Also without caution.

Learn from your dog, that knows how sniff the wind and knows to kiss when is the moment.



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