There wasn’t too much cold. There’s never too much cold where I was born. Even in that November I don’t remember. And they say the moon had covered the sun but from there you couldn’t see it.

 

I remember, without making it up, that I could barely walk. And there was a green and orange ball that seemed so beautiful to me. And when I knew, I understood it was just a keychain. And if memories lose strength because of time or because more keep piling up, I can’t say. But the sea stays inside me with the horizon you can see far away. And its smell. And its breath.

 

And what I did or was doing doesn’t matter much because I didn’t finish it. Then one day I left and I never went back anywhere.

 

And I was alone on a bus with little money that wasn’t even enough for a day. But I didn’t care at all. And I had already met a friend. Too bad it was just for a moment while we were going to Rome at night. Because I only ever wanted to go somewhere else.

 

And I wasn’t that young and it was cold when I met someone on the street. We were hungry. But he was the one who found food. And he told me his hunger wasn’t more important than mine. So we ate together and we became friends. And we made music in lots of places. Even far from everything. And I played the guitar but not too well. And him too. But much better because he had studied it.

 

And I was always writing. But then I threw it all away. And who knows if it

was a shame.

 

When I did my exam essay, the judge asked me if I wanted to become a writer. 

Was that the end of me? And then you’re left with nothing unfinished like Leonardo’s sketches that are so beautiful. As if life takes shape only in the things left half-done. Because the end of a thing is like it’s dead.

So I told her no, that I wanted to become something that was sure not to please anyone not even myself. I wanted to keep on living.

 

Because the sea was inside me. “You know, inside you there’s like a big space. A space for everything. For beautiful and ugly things, hard and delicate. Flowers and blood. And they’re in a place where you can’t tell which ones are beautiful and which are not". But I was left only with flowers stained with blood. Because my friend said it but it didn't last long. And everything just kept lasting but in a fog.

 

And I didn't become anything

And I had too many desires. But just one need: to be simplified.

 

Because it’s true that life begins with a cry.

But it should end with a smile.