pellecolorata

5 am pasta tastes different outside of Italy and by yourself.

Your voice sounded so soft, so small, so little.

“Pronto?”

“... hey.”

I hope all the sweetness I put in that hey and the smile I stretched reached you.

It’s not that we gots to say bigger things.

I know that me disappearing hurt you. So I had two ways, to make it good again: or explaining why I disappeared, or let you be the one that disappears.

You choose your favorite as usual.

I wish I could hug you.

I wish you’re happy. I wish it with every single cell I’m made of.

You sound so soft, so tiny...

And if so, would I still call you?

Yesterday I learned that sometimes an answer comes to your mind before you even make a question, if you pay attention. Sometimes the answer, is that there is no question.

And it’s really like this. These are just questions: it is what it is, we are what we are, with all the distances in between, and it couldn’t have been in a different way.

No more questions, I just really, really hope, deep within, when you open up your eyes in the morning, you feel that little sparkle in the heart that I’ve been feeling since I’m not sad anymore.

Somehow someway I’ll always smile back at your image, all I’ve got left from you, all I wanted to have left from you. Forever smiling.