Wounds without a cure.


strange days


There are some days, strange days, metallic days, when you wake up feeling anger inside for no plain reason. Or, days with you happy and well until one moment when, suddenly, anger strikes and turns you from small to smaller.


You keep yourself inside and nobody knows it, but you know it. You always know it.


You are an aggressive animal. Those damn unimportant things betray you in the eyes of connoisseurs. The way you drive, the way you smoke, the way you walk.


Your life got better, you got better, things started to fall into their places. Also love happened to you. But there are these days happening against everything as a reminder of your littleness and of your wounds.


Wounds without a cure.


Unhealed burns that make every touch and kiss to hurt like hell, no matter how well the other one masters the art of touching a wounded one.


It’s just how it is. Love doesn’t heal you, it just gives you a chance and the strength to live a better life the way you ended up.


There are times when I feel like the autistic woman, Temple Grandin, who learnt to deal with herself and with the anxiety of life by inventing all sorts of things and ways to push her forward against herself.


For such twisted days, it is the sea only that calms me down.


Run to the sea, Spartacus!

Run to the sea.



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