Love letter

My dear lover,

It’s beautiful up here in the sky, watching the clouds from up above dancing under the golden sun. My letter starts kilometers in the air, with my words transforming into sentences under the inspiration of the music that we shared. Our love affair is over by now, but your presence in my mind is more vivid than ever, in a twisted game of faith that makes humans more appreciative to the lost possessions, than the ones they have. It was for me an incredible journey, full of adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin, the best cocktail that human body can offer, in the form of exciting adventures, incredible moments of connection and pure, truthful affection, all mixed with the best sex I had in my life. If there is paradise, my paradise is with you, on the motorcycle driving into the unknown.

My letter continues from the beautiful Boboli Gardens, which I am sure you visited, holding someone’s hand, laughing at some else’s jokes and kissing another forehead. Not mine.

I am angry that I cannot forget you, that I cannot free myself from this affection and desire that I hold  so dearly inside me, that I cannot escape the thousand thoughts bringing me back to you every day.

Oh, no, I will never send you this letter. Is too  humiliating, the strong affection, the permanent desire, this heavy chain of love which with I voluntarily imprisoned myself, all in the name of a useless affection. Such a stupidity for rationality and such a logic for love.

I am in pain. I’m like a wounded dog abandoned by his master, because it cannot jump anymore for the guests’ entertainment. I’m like a stepchild of a mother of three, but with breast only for two.

They say it is punishment. This pain is a sentence. Is the torment for the loved one that will never be your, the lesson to learn by all those women who dare to touch the forbidden men, taken by their sisters, the providers of another’s family, the father of another’s children. Is the merciless punishment, that hurts every inch of your soul.

Probably the hardest thing for me to accept is that you used me. You used me to get a little more affection, to get the adoration and the fantasy of love. To feel alive one more time before you die, before you retire, before you get expired and no pretty girl will fancy you or fall for your charms. The price peanuts, of no real value. The benefits, a lot of pleasure to have someone connected to you, giving to you her attention, love and genuine care. You used me, and I was too naive to notice it, too eager for acceptation to pay attention and too hungry for love to negotiate better my fate and feelings. You used me and after I was consumed, you just let me drawn in my own misery and pain, as the brave and stupid girls do. You are a fucking asshole and you were one from the beginning. I was too blind by your attention, your big gestures and charming style to see your dark and ugly side. Unfortunately, I love dark.

In a twisted game of fate, you told me who you are, how you are and what will happen after the romance reaches it’s a culminating point. When you fall in love you break up, going back to your family, with a mixture of guilt, loyalty and proud. The casualties like me need to find their own way back to life. I should have listened and pulled back in the beginning, but I was too proud and in my vanity, I hoped that I will not be the one that falls. In love, so bad and so hurtful.

Humiliated, with my heart bleeding, I pledge in this beautiful garden not to give you the satisfaction over my wrecked soul. I will find my way out and I promise to be happy and satisfied with other people, the ones that care, appreciate and love me.

And you, I wish for the fate to punish you, in the best way it can, in the most painful and wicked way a proud man punishment can be felt. I believe that one day we shall meet again, when I will be glowing and fully enjoying my life, and you will be just sad, sobbing the lost of what you could have had.

Mad about you

Are you mad? He asked me with a smile on his face, slightly surprised by my brutal reaction.

Yes, I am mad. I am crazily mad… about you

About you … my mind explores possibilities, kneading a dough of pain and hope, with a sweet salty taste, in silence. The madness and crazy tears already left my body, leaving behind a beautiful corpse, functional, admirable and empty.

About you … I was definitely not thinking when he entered in me, strong and hard, telling me that I am so beautiful, completely turned on by my sexuality and charm. He insisted that I come, liking me insistently. I try to fake it, but it didn’t work, so, I finally just gave into it. I came twice and I left soon after his hotel room. He wanted me to stay, hugging me and kissing my body, but the time I was supposed to spend with him talking or doing anything was unbearable torture for me, intolerably boring. In the comfort of my house, I remembered about you, while counting the moths since I did not have sex, since you actually fucked me in the summer.

About you … I was thinking when she told me that you are not coming this year to Bologna, popping immediately in my mind the crowded hallways with red carpet emptied of your presence, the taste of the Italian streets, bitter without your steps. My heart beat stronger, faster and more painfully, when her words reached my ears.

About you … is almost every song on my playlist, every though from my mind that wonders how stupid a person can be to fall in love, hard and brutal, just like I have fallen for you.

Love, the aim

Her words hit me like a hammer. She looked in my beautiful hazel eyes and told me calmly:

‘You will never truly love a man until you love your mother.’ I glanced at her mistrustfully, only for her to add: ‘Otherwise, he will disbelieve your feelings. How can he trust you, if you do not love your own mother? How will you know how to love him?’

Her assumption forced my mind to make painful connections within seconds, tearing apart my carefully and toil built illusion of affection. I refused to collect the pieces immediately, denying the reality surrounding me, too angry and hurt to admit that I was never able to truly love a man. Not in the way I wanted, anyway. I never trusted completely any man to show him how my unrestricted love affection looks like. I never offered without reserve, restrictions, and boundaries. My endless love always had a finish line.

My personal idea of affection developed early in my childhood. In a private place of my mind that I used to visit every time I would put my head on a pillow, just before my thoughts were stolen away by a mysterious dream. In this secret place, I would find love in its purest form, giving and receiving without restrictions, boundaries or limits endless care and unrestricted affection. This was the safe place I visited in my childhood after each quarrel or beating I endured from my parents, after each humiliation, I would receive from others teenagers or each injustice and disappointment that I had to face.

The subject of my affection was one, only one, an uncertain but missing figure, something that my mind would associate with the expectations I had from a man. A man without a face, but with a soul like mine and a kind and warm heart.

In my teenage years, I started to search for the missing subject of my affection, in love relations, beginning each one with the expectation that the boys and later men that showed me an interest in a certain moment, were, in fact, the right person from my dreams. The barometer of scrutiny for the men from my life was given by the easiness with which I could picture them in this role. If, I could easily imagine them in my dreams, I would give them a go, while, if that would be hard, I would embrace them with rejection and without a second thought. So, from a young age, I started all my relations on a fake premise of expectations, to fill in an empty void from childhood. And the void was easy to fill, temporarily of course, at the beginning of each relation, when expectations and demands are prevailed by the discovery of other, the physical attraction and chemistry bond. The hugs, kisses, and touches reassured my needs of affection, making me believe that each chosen man, would finally be the man of my dreams. Sometimes, somewhere along with the relation, I would even forget about the illusion of love, living at the moment, trapped in the daily chores and routine, lost between others needs, general expectations and my wishes. Except for the moments of silence, when I was honest and naked to myself, brave enough to look inside and feel the missing part. Then, I would see the void. After acknowledging it, the relation would quickly disintegrate in an explosion of disappointments, frustrations, and anger. I would usually move on, before it would finish, to the new potential candidate. Between my déjà vu experiences of love and exploration, I managed to marry the most persistent candidate. Tiered of the unfulfilling searching wheel, I capitulated on the stairs of society, embracing the social custom of morbid marriages and the illusion that something will change in time, within me and around me. The change never came, and when I wanted to escape again in that secret place of my mind, the logic ticked in. Why would I dream of someone to share my love with, when my husband lays next to me? Wasn’t the marriage built on the foundation of love? So, I divorced, with all the social consequences, in search of the freedom, the choice and the love that I deserved.

I divorced so that I could repeat my mistake again, and again, until the day her words confronted me. I wanted to dismiss them, but I restricted my protective instinct, only to realize that I have never been free to see, to choose or to love, being permanently limited and obsessed by my own perception of the other person. In fact, I never saw the persons standing in from of me because I was too busy to dress them up in the role I conceive in my childhood for them. The role of my Mother, as she was actually the figure I was always looking for, half of my life. I was looking for her, projecting the expectations I had from her into every man I meet on my way, blinded by my need of her and incapable to see, who the person in front of me really was, what this person wanted and what offered.

Mothers cannot be changed, the time cannot be turned, but a future decision can be different. I forgive you, Mother, for all the missing love that I endured and I thank you, for giving me life. I will do something good with it. In this way, I will be free and I will choose consciously the people surrounding me. At night, when I will put my head on the pillow, I will think of you. Because I always wanted your love most of all.

It’s curiously how children, now of adult age, step with great accuracy on the pats walked by their parents, caring the same bags of unhappiness, lack of fulfilment, frustrations, fears and need for acceptance.


I am in red. A red dress curved around my body, match my high-hill red sandals, while my shoulders are covered by a red jacket, matching my red lipstick. I walk delicately between  the rooms, leaving a sweet and sorrow taste of my perfume behind me, while people smile and dogs shook their tails at my appearance. I receive the admiration compliments from women and the sexual desire from men with a delicate smile on my face. I know that I am beautiful, playful and intriguing. I have the million dollar look and a two million dollars smile. I am fabulous, I know it, I feel it and it does not move me. Not even an inch.

You are there. You are sitting at your desk miles away, in another time zone, with other people surrounding you, with other needs and expectations, with other plans and thoughts. You are far away, unreachable and unavailable, sleeping when I wake up and active when I go to bed. You are the heavy stone pressing on every bone from my fragile, delicate body, you are the second thought that emerges from my mind, you are the one I involuntarily dream about every night. Your my star, but not a shining one.

The plan

When we were spending this time together, I realised how similar you were with my ex-husband, not as a person, but in the dynamics of our relation.

You both have strong characters, that is for sure, but probably I could never be with a weaker man, and there’s my pick. However, what you want from me, the way you express your feelings towards me and the way you treat me, it’s all the same in essence.

You both want my joie de vivre, my naivety, my strength, my affection, a child and my eternal devotion. You both love me, in the same selfish way, wanting everything from me, feeding on my emotions, with a violent jealousy, aware of my value and of your own limitations. You both want it all, and you are both too selfish to give something of complex value in return. Ironically, your restrictions are opposite. You give me exactly what he denied me, and he offered me exactly what you cannot. But in essence, the connection is similar.

I offer a complex journey, to you, a man that can only give me half. He is aware of his lack and because he is strong, he becomes frustrated, aware of the difference between us. And because he loves me, he becomes jealous, conscious that he might lose me. And because he is selfish, he becomes weak, afraid of my strength.

Strong, in love and selfish, you take me into your arms, you make love to me like no other and you enjoy my infinite affection, my body vibrating under you and my mind connected to all your wants, your needs and desires. This is your soft spot. You lose control.

Frustrated, jealous and weak, you criticise me, searching for faults in my behaviour, you denigrate my character, in the hope that you will diminish my value, you try to make me jealous and purposely hurt me, until you see the pain in my eyes, until I shout on the streets that I am mad, until my eye pour infinite tears on a bench in Ljubljana. This is your strong spot. You gain control.

The difference between us, is that I am on the second side of the same coin, addicted to this cocktail of love and pain, which I regularly serve, despite the fact that I know that is not good for me. I purposely poison myself, just so that I can later regenerate and continue in the same way.

I have no plan for love, I never had. Love is my drug, that I can infinitely take, although is not good for me and the awakening is painful. Is the only factor that make me act reckless, against all logics, choosing disadvantage over advantage, poorness over richness, sacrifice over selfishness or death over life.