1-the sense of the modesty. I still have him. When I go to gym, when enter a cinema, to the restaurant, in a cafe. To the sea in custom. I am still ashamed. Of my body, of my insecurities. There is the timidity disguised as safety to give me strength, but modesty remains. Only in the photos I find courage. A courage disguised as autostima, self-satisfaction. A great Ego as the whole world that interests for going out of the objective...and to think that everything is initiated for joke...almost as to try to make a perfect point to a pencil. Turns and turns, make the point and don't seem yourself well done. Then you restart. From child I will have consumed I don't know how much pencils with 'history is...and now consumption my Canon...to look for the perfection.
2-the first time that I have said "I love You", I have done him to like. To attract the attention.
The second time because I wanted to use my new makeups of the love.
The third one has written him and I is not aware of it.
The fourth grade I cried neither of joy neither of happiness.
The scene I have howled him to the wind that has brought back me him.
The sixth one on the sand "I Love You", a wave and if he is brought him away.
The seventh one on the skin, to tattoo a history.
The octave I infuse to the subway before departing.
The ninth to my grandparents that I have not lived enough. I often tell her him, still today.
The tithe, to whom me complete. Him.
17.3.08
Ho scritto T'AMO e non lo sapevo
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