monocromia

Mentre le parlavo ho pianto, per l'amore che provo per lei, un amore fraterno, un amore senza il quale mi sentirei priva di una parte di me.

É stata l'unica alla quale ho rivelato il mio primo dolore, i miei primi abusi, il mio primo cuore infranto.

Lei é la parte di me che ho sempre cercato di raggiungere, ma nel tentativo goffo mi sento sempre di cadere.

Da lì é iniziata una depressione lunga 6 anni

It wasn’t relief. It was recognition.

It was the quiet horror of finally having a name for the emptiness that follows me everywhere. The emptiness that sits beside me in crowded rooms.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Why I feel too much, and at the same time, nothing at all.

Why love for me has never been gentle — only sharp, consuming, absolute.

Why I need people like air, like water, like something I will die without.

I have always loved in a way that hurts.

Not because I want to destroy, but because I want to merge.

Because distance feels like death.

Because closeness feels like survival.

Sometimes I confuse pain with proof that something is real.

Sometimes I confuse intensity with intimacy.

Sometimes I stay inside my suffering because at least it is familiar.

There is a version of me that is always standing at the edge, looking down, not necessarily wanting to fall, but wanting the noise inside my head to stop.

And there is a version of me that is still here.

Still breathing.