C‘It was once a boy, not so beautiful, he had a cagiva Custom 125 motorbike, who loved a lot. He was a pure boy of heart, of those who give the Trudi plush, the pupa sluts, the scent drops of Napoleon. He was the right boy to make love for the first time, because he is delicate.Tu you know he loves you, you know that you will soon break his heart, because he loves you, because he is not beautiful, because he is not Sarrator, because he is kind. Because – for various reasons that I am not explaining – you are a beautiful girl from the 80s, among the stupid and clutches that can exist, those capable of climbing to the saddle of the bike of the most cool, of the cutest, just because you know that when you see you the boy you really like.
You won’t be ashamed, because you think he will redoish and you will acquire value in his eyes. You see him, he is the boy with strands, with very thick eyelashes (that his father suggests to banging in the vain attempt to pleasure to the girls), you see him from afar, while you climbed happily and very bitch on the powerful bike of the beautiful one, beautiful in your eyes, you see him and you know his desperate, astonished, incredulous gaze and you don’t give a damn. Don’t think about it anymore. Live and have fun.
Then you get married, make children, you separate you And you realize that, all in all, during the gnawing course of your years, you have always dormant a sense of remorse. You became a good person, that clt, though you understand, stayed inside you, Analyze and you know that boy loved you. Porca misery! You also understand what rarity was finally. Open Instagram, look for his name, see beautiful photos (seems single), other than “not so beautiful” …
Aged definitely wellmuch better than the Belloni who liked you so much. “Hi, is you?” Spring 2022, Post Covid, post separation, post of the post of life that went to be blessed, start seeing it all, every day, we speak, go to the motorbike, go to the sea, we laugh, you drink a lot of beer, Love is made, the famous skin that has memory rejoices and relives, It tanns, rejuvenates, rejoices. Obviously married, obviously brother and sister, obviously falls at your feet, Try to end it over and over again And he always comes back with extra eyes, looks at you and you see that figure that you abandoned on the edge of the road when you climbed the Bellone motorcycle, while slamming the eyelashes, while it became smaller and smaller. Everyday. And long phone calls, always, at the time of the dog’s piss. Albeit for an hour, albeit for a coffee, albeit for a beer in a chat, albeit to be embraced, for two and a half years, in public, in the sunlight, in every place in our small town.
Then, in July of last year, the tragedy. There wife, tired of being a sister with his sister, assumes a private investigator, he follows him, They photograph us and, with overwhelming tests in hand, he sent him a letter of separation directly from the lawyer. It could destroy it, they make a consensual. You feel you die, you cancel yourself with your heart inside the stomach, and remain at his total disposal, in silent respect for what he is undergoing and not deciding. You understand that his privileged life (their marriage was a flourishing company, complete with a single spoiled and adored son), is over and that for this reason and certainly not for affection towards the consort, He is in pieces. You do you aside, When he calls Corri, when he draws you answer with a trembling hand. But he calls less and less, he writes more and more rarely. You tell you that his life has crumbled, that he is suffering, that You destroyed him again, and this time on the threshold of old age. You tell you, it’s not understanding anything, He is an almost old man hunted at home who had to move to his parents’ house, Forced to sleep in the attic of the single sister, an almost old man who can no longer be with the dog and the Holy Son, to whom he must now explain how much a shitty man was, how much he injured the Holy Mother, how wrong, how much he has failed. You tell you waiting, even if you know that, if you loved you as you have taken for granted because it has always returned and because you left it on the road 40 years earlier with the broken heart, it would be with you, in pieces, but with you.
You tell yourself you are responsible tooyou tell you that he needs to reassemble the lego pieces of his life disassembled. Every now and then, you go to the sea, or you come out in the evening, finally. But he is bored, sad, disheartened. You try to tell him, with touch and discretion, well, let’s go a couple of days out, it may be well together, we had the opportunity to frequent ourselves in the “lovers” mode, which you can know, maybe we like it. And shy, shy every attempt of clarity. Ferragosto arrives, hi, if you have nothing to do with your son, do we want to do something together? I imagine it alone and, for the first time, without the camper holiday with the family, I reply, sorry, I am busy. And this reductive and worsening trend goes on and crystallizes. Do not hear it for days, you see it on Tuesday and then maybe Thursday and then disappear over the weekend. We pass through everyone, every day of when he was married, to almost never. Think, it is right, he dedicates himself to himself, to his son, to the dog, to reassemble the Lego pieces. November also arrives, inevitable.
This increasingly warm window, this agonizing month that preludes winter. You say it is enough, what you decided to dedicate me, is really merciful even for me, she accustomed to the crumbs. AND He disappears. There is definitely no more on the edge of the road to open their extra eyes. You are there. And you don’t even have long enough eyelashes to beat, hoping to get noticed. And in pieces like LEGO blocks devastated, you feel you. Six months have passed and continue to speak mentally with him, you prepare yourself as if you were to see him and go laughing, drinking the beer. He arrives on his birthday, decide with a thousand tribulations and wish him, ask him if he goes to see you again, he says why not, run, take you the beer, look at him and You understand that you are nothing for himdefinitely are the void, his eyes are strokes and they look at you as they would look at a pigeon that, instead of flying, accelerates the step and you think, of course that it is quite stupid to have wings and choose to get, awkwardly. Or maybe not, not even that. His eyes are those of someone who looks at you and think, but who is this? You wonder how it is possible that for two and a half years, when you tried to end it repeatedly, I told you I don’t know if I can not call you, you wonder how he could risk it so much if his life as a married kept, legitimately, so much, you wonder where all those laughter, those conversations, that feeling at home are finished, those beautiful hugs, you really ask yourself: but that can be happened in the heart of a good man Elderly, he returned to run by motorbike with you clandestinely and, then, free, he downloaded you, without warning, without giving you explanations and, unfortunately, without not even badness.
Help me Ester. Please. I am alone, on the side of the road and I wave a flag of a little sporchetta.
N.
Ester Viola’s answer
Dear N.,
Among the various benefits that these tools take place, these bored scrap as bored in all weddings, is to seem distant, deep and fought once they find themselves (and find the substitute) of the game that until then has entertained them. You don’t change a lot from five years to go up: nice this tractor! – Two days later, when he played enough: how disgusting, the old tractor, can’t we buy a new one at the shop?
Yes, yes, yes. There are the things that have done their part, in your case, the past that organized an entrance on the scene of Nemesis perfect, redistributive justice that took a paccheri and he, took away a wife and in return gave you the flies. As in all the triangles, levi one side, and everything is broken. Finished to hide, finished everything. It doesn’t work anymore.
I reject any accusation of generalization. You become old for that, to generalize with the data and archive evidence. How many stories sighed for months and years have I seen getting to the target? (A relationship of the real world, with washing machines and dishes). Zero, tending to zero point one. The zero point one then also divorced.
Normal. It takes normal things. Let’s write this on the flag, N. We wash it well, we blend it in light candidate and then we pictures of it, cherry red, “even when love is fine do not get 100% of the expected happiness”.
We already said of the thousand excuses reserved for these subjects, expectations with all the patients of the world – patience of the doctor, mother, patience of the Samaritan.
1) you have to wait, he had a difficult childhood
2) you have to wait, works a lot, now everything is taken from the mission
3) We must wait, his ex has compromised him the emotional and relational skills and must have time to repair the damage
4) you have to wait, it is anaffective
5) You have to wait, it has the Asperger still not diagnosed
6) You have to wait, he takes the time to understand and appreciate me
7) you have to wait, the best things need years
8) you have to wait, it is depressed
9) you have to wait, loves me and does not yet know/does not accept it
10) We have to wait, when we see you there is a great agreement/correspondence/other chemical stunt.
What is incredible, in being disammared, is an appeal to the willpower that has no equal. We never commit ourselves at all and both for a long time as for unrequited loves. It is curious how the best investments of forces always go to the most lost causes. What a waste, if I can say.
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