I met a girl. They were unlucky day of Spring, her favorite season. He told of how persecuted the smell, stressed saccenza with the choice of the word smell instead scent of sea and wind. Described in my ear unwisely then, why maybe miserably conscious of the many ways that these feelings had to take it back, or on the legs smooth and white. I met this girl I said - from the first moment the impression was of how much he had learned his stuff from an early age. Studied for profession and I could not tell for sure what, but I can now draw the little importance of the issue. It was clear his ability to move between fields and gave almost always the impression of having learned from elementary school to make the protagonist of paintings by Van Gogh. He knew variants of blue and red, but he dreamed of one form of purple.
He showed me the afternoon of the sixth day of our knowledge diaries: Chronicles of bizarre mental journey. He walked the bricks. Gray brick, brick-colored cream. Did not seem to be overly proud and, I admit, I felt something strange. For every expression of my curiosity seemed to hold almost homeless, fed the need for probably gestures, little things. Small intimate things, I mean.
Over the months that followed that sixth week, emerged kisses and broken words. He knew how to be loved, in a highly personal and not very viable way of course. Yet he knew and wanted, so he wanted to know.
Sere type A in which he showed me with a lot of non-luminous baton between your fingers, than it was lively and spirited the world in black and white Resnais. Evenings of type B in which he could drive me crazy and taste the blood film with red or reddish or so that some of Lynch (mother told me how her daughter had begun to eat stuff to film the third year of high school - it was argued vehemently in the house the view of the very few calories in about one of the many evenings A). Fanciulla of a certain style and melancholy, nothing to object.
remained rapt and waiting, every time I tried to collect the lips or cheeks between her fingers. And I was absolutely blind eye when he told me of his or repeated changes of mood, his renunciation of the mirror with pride expressed a desire for suicide carnival personality. The pressed to identify any objectification of will be able to cancel later, along with the memory of having owned the same lap.
any thoughts on content and formulation of hair seemed to go and fire. I will admit in confidence he had never longed shutdown. Only once, just once I hugged her and I remembered how it would be easy to find, "to the left of your flesh, where the only meat you refuses to be left."
We made love after 11 months of Friends of the election and was, as one was ever able to learn in the years to follow, once as it should. He waited, silent. I dressed the body of stamps air breaths breaths breaths. He claimed his being and his stature with the air. Funny creature that managed to wake up at 6 am, leaving me in my shine on the bed without a name, surname and date of belonging. Then I saw there were the 7, 7, and something better to say - "where the hell I left the phone heretic?" ... he cut her own hair, that crazy tuttaocchi. I sighed for a moment, narrowing his eyes and God knows how I burned my eyes in the morning - "maybe I'm better with hair so short, just a little slope to the left" - I thought. I went back to bed and I also observed that morning in my stuttering alone. A few more distortion on the right, another left and then I'll be blunt perfect. For a closed box. For a box with lid. Just a little hole in the north - west, where I will always remember of a landscape en plein air.
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