E.coli More Condition_treatment

La morbidezza dei tuoi seni

Stasera sono preda del nomadismo delle idee. Fa caldo, fa tremendamente caldo. Il mio corpo affonda nel materasso e sembra ancora più pesante. Le immagini si affastellano nella mia mente l’una sull’altra, si ammucchiano, per poi spezzarsi, polverizzarsi. Non ho controllo alcuno sui miei pensieri, sono vittima di una battaglia sfiancante ed ho caldo, sono coperta di sudore. Ho bisogno di una doccia, to get rid of this feeling of suffocation wet. I need something to focus my energies and attention to the body can only get away from the tyranny of the mind. I have to get my weight of flesh and blood, listen more carefully. Maybe I'm really just using it as a suit when I'm in and that is not mine. I must return to the body, to save me. Within the bathroom and turn on the light. I take off your clothes and let him slip away, piled on the floor. As the water flows into the shower and gets warm, I look. I look at my face, my hands that pass through his hair disheveled, my skin finally amber after a while 'at sea. A face is superimposed on my own, automatically, almost instantaneous (and instinctive). It seems that I have forgotten the roar of water coming down and waiting for me to drink and fly, as always, live in space and inhabited by a now distant yesterday. It was nice when we went in the evening. She was beautiful in that half-hour swim in the summer evenings, waiting to exit. It was nice to spend the cream on his back, touching your skin with your fingers and soul with words. Santa always wondered how two women could extend so much time, expanding the minutes and making her unbearable wait. It was good to wear makeup to enhance our beauty, it was nice to choose the most mere ornament to our faces and see, projected in front of the mirror, how the passage of time would make our features more similar. It was nice to discover an ever more marked correspondence in the features of the faces, in the case of bodies, in the form of smiles. Not only within you gave me, you so prosperous and mother, I so thin and masculine forms of the feminine. When I was a teenager and I lived my thinness as an impairment in the carousel of vanity natural at that age, I took my tiny breasts in his hands and dreamed that took shape, growing on contact and taking your profile. You calm the girl of my insecurity, saying that would have grown, flourished in the features that I would soon be an adult, I would have taken maternal and sensual look. And to think that instead of seeing my grow, I saw your dry by the day, losing their prosperity and call me in the warmth of hugs, a sentence that you are condemned killer. Who knows what you feel when, for the first time, I have attached to your nipples and I pulled hard. Who knows what you feel when you've received, when they are sunk in the softness of your breasts, while I clung to you like a frightened puppy. I wonder if you hear me when I returned, reversing a generation, the maternal gestures with his hands and kisses her daughter. I wonder if I reciprocated embrace the love of these years. I look again, reflected in mirror, and I see you emerge from the wrinkles on my face. It 'good that threw me under the shower, and cool my body and my thoughts.

Kate Ground Wikipedia

Sulle note di Gabriel Yared

It broke the shutter of the shutter and the shutter is murandomi thrown down in my bedroom, without leaving even a glimmer of night air that cools my night. I can not resist in that room with that thick and suffocating. I move in the room, I do not know, maybe tonight I will sleep on the couch, at least to allow me to breathe. Although the two seem almost too soon to say goodbye to this long day. I write, I go back to writing. First on a yellowed piece of paper I find on the desktop, then behind receipt of a baker, now here, in this imaginary page. I turn on my computer and I wrap the intense melody of the music by Gabriel Yared. I savor the emotions of these two pleasant evenings in a Follonica so popular this time of year. I think my feet free from sandals sunk in fresh sand, slowly sipped a beer between words slurred speech in the company, at that flat sea lit by night, that little bar on the waterfront that seems a bit me back 'to myself. Tonight I ask myself why I continue to make myself the chameleon-like metamorphosis that I can not bear, tonight I understand the deep sign of discomfort and alienation that I perceive to wear certain masks, to look for certain movements that talk about a Barbara who is not me. I feel tonight, I feel I belong. Tonight I really do not change a thing in my face, my body, my breasts, my hands, do not wear more clothes if they do not turn my words, the tone of my voice, the way I move, to be among others. Yesterday, moving from Massa Marittima Grosseto to, I drove along that road in the middle of the campaign that accompanies the forms of a small lake and winding through the vineyards and fields of this for me Maremma still bitter and extremely boggy. I thought that it was nearly twenty years that I spent there. I belong in being able to trace an imaginary line that links la Barbara di oggi a quella di quegli anni. Mi appartengo perché non trasformerei una nota della mia melodia, da quelle più intense a quelle più stonate. Mi appartengo perché nell’immergermi nell’atmosfera ansiogena e magica degli esami di maturità ritorno con la mente a quel luglio del 1993 e scopro che ho disegnato un percorso lineare, uniforme e coerente pur nel suo essere intimamente contorto e attorcigliato su se stesso. Stasera assaporo il piacere del riconoscimento, il piacere del mio stesso rispecchiamento. Stasera sembra che percepisca l’esaurirsi di una fase convulsa che mi allontanava da me stessa e mi sento felice. E vedo mia madre, con l’espressione di enorme preoccupazione con cui l’ho percepita nell’ultimo dream in which I repeatedly asked her not to cry. I can not sleep on the couch. But perhaps I can not sleep.