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Jun 8, 2014 01:44

Life gave me a lot. A lot of contradictions, some hilarious scenes and a nonsense. I will talk briefly about the nonsense. The nonsense, the empty nonsense, that just my overflowing love for everithing was able to overcome,was called Pomodoro. Pomodoro is tomato in English, but of course the meaning is get lost in transaltion and that's it. I use to call her Pomodoro and she was young, tiny like orange's peel, dark as a little child in one of the first Barton's movies and always naked. It could sound strange (not a the cool ears anyway) but a really slim body will never be taken for pornografic, even if naked, even if completely fragile or maybe because of it. This is totally unfair. I agree that it is totally unfair but love, or better, having a crush is totally unfair, unsuless, pointless and funny. But it is dangerous too. Greek people, ancient ones, they'd know perfercly what I mean. They are full with stories of crazy people or gods that fall in love for someone and transform itself in a rock a lake or a tree. And that is because a crush, or a romantic love is always correlated with the power of the imagine. We have an idea, just an idea of our love and we die for that romantic ideal that should free us of our life-burden, the burden in which consists life, beeing alive and bla bla.
I firmly believe it. But, I used to love her anyway. Her skin was beautiful, more than the moon's lake, just like an ice cream, her words was magical how we were in the Peter Pan story, and beside it, she was an actress a director a painter and a writer, a full Pomodoro! I use to love here without asking myself if my love was well paid back. And this is a nonsense! For everybody this kind of love is a nonsense, because a non corresponded love is a nonsense for everybody. But it wasn't a non corresponded love and that is not the nonsense that I refered to, before. The nonsense was the anger that I felt when she wasn't exactly as I've dreamt of, for a long time, she wasn't like I've expected, and she couldn't look at me as I've ever looked at her. Love happens, it is never about looking forward for it. It is not a research, it is not a trip a travel a scholar bus, lov is more like an accident, a sudden awakening in an horrible make up after a stupid making out.
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