This is me. With birthday cake on my face.
Dolce far niente is what my holidays are about. Dolce far niente all the way, dude. I have been watching movies and reading novels and singing and screaming and sleeping and no-one cares. But the best thing about this month is that my birthday is up for the 23rd. Yes, bitches, Shakespeare died on this day and I was born. *bows*
Goa is calling me. I must obey. So I leave tonight by train at one o’clock with Mum-Dad. Will be there on the shore tomorrow, waiting for you. Attraversiamo.
“I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chap-stick . . .”
Today I feel quite distracted. My mind is buzzing with left-overs of rock music I bathed with in the shower, this morning. The holidays are finally sinking in and I can dream of white sand and sun in my eyelashes and tinkling laughter. There is really no high to match that of freedom.
“let’s set the world on fire, we could brighter than the sun . . . tonight we are young . . .”
In the morning after clearing breakfast and skimming over the papers, Dad offhandedly commented upon a trip in few weeks. Maybe Goa. Maybe Pondicherry. I can’t wait to be amazed, to feel beautiful again. I always feel beautiful when I’m on a vacation . . . my sunglasses wink in the rear-view mirror as the car runs languidly on the bare highway . . . and it seems as if nothing can ever go wrong again. Time is going to flow sweetly as I read and the radio drums in the background.
“and when you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while cos’ girl you’re amazing’ just the way you are . . .”
The only thing that’s missing is a girl in my arms, whispering and smiling and every now and then bending over to peck me lightly on the cheeks, her fragrant oil tingling my skin. I’ll find her soon. A girl who doesn’t know she’s pretty, a girl who wears big glasses but has a dreamy voice, whose lips are stained with wine . . .
Happy day-dreaming, y’all!