It happens into my big world

I’m laying on my big bed, into my big house, into the big neighbourhood and into my big world, listening in the dark a song of a wonderfully sweet sadness written by Nancy Sinatra.

I’m beautiful, the scent of my hair is beautiful, the red colour of my night shirt is beautiful, the night stand book is beautiful.

I’m sad.

I’m seeing him in my head how he kisses my tears, how he kisses my palm while I sleep, how he holds my hand with strength in the center of the city’s coffee-shop, how he clumsly brings me red tulips, how he strokes my hair into the cab, how he warms his feet under the blanket touching mine, how he holds me into his arms without saying any word, how he sniffs me, how he speaks to me in French while he touches my breasts, how he tickles my cheeks with his long black eyelashes, how he smiles to me with meaning, how he smiles to me with love, how he similes to me with fakeness while I take him photos, how he dances like freddie mercury, how he laughs, how he sings, how he kisses with passion, how he kisses like a child, how he makes love, how he looks at me in the train, how he looks at me in the trolley, how he raises my hair up while I talk to him in bed, how he hugs and kisses his brother after few beers, how he changes his mimicry while talking at out table, into our bar, into the mountain city, how his eyes glow while drawing the sketches of our future white house, how he changes his voice while talking to his mom at the telephone, how, late at night, he keeps my red sandals and purse into his hands, on the street of my big house, into the big neighbourhood, into my big world, waiting for us to go sleeping into my big bed………. I’m seeing him loving me without telling it.

It was just a dream. I woke up in tears into a late rainy morning and …. his scent and arms weren't there. There were someone else’s.