Oh, wait for me, my lady, with patience and care as you can do, sitting with your knees together, your hands cured on the smooth thighs, your feet closed in the closed dancers:
his living room so small and precise, the round sofa, the central table, of old cherry with three light and curled legs that unfold from a turned column where round balls, one on the other and all different.
I'm fine, you know, I have nothing to do with me, an emotional and emotional calm that protects me.
The Sons, the Zarina, the Work Benedict, all silent, immersed in the clear light of July that clears the new plasters of the medieval walls.
There is no ghost of man around me: all so far, my lady, that I don’t even think it was my life.
The greatest thing of these days is my lazy abandon, I do not push do not throw up nothing, I let the days turn, and I laugh and think and reflect.
During the week I go to Job Benedict and do things: not many, not intense, not quickly. I follow the evolution of the situation, even if I do not see important developments.
On Sunday I drag lazy from bed to computer, to a book to read, lying on the ground with my head pushed beyond the pillow and the neck protected, my arms up to support the book I read, while I lay my feet on the bedspread and little boy with the soft linens, the music of radio 101 streaming, the empty fridge, the bottle with water, the Ipad.
Scribacchio but above all I do nothing: I indulge in the boredom without destination and galling, without thoughts.
I’m fine: as the Elected would say, I’m going forward at cruise speeds.
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