Crave / Febbre

“And I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy’s and talk about the day and type up your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don’t listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you’re sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the tv programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your

and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you’re late and be amazed when you’re early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I’m black and be sorry when I’m wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I’d known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you’re angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you’re gorgeous and hug you when you’re anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I’m next to you and whimper when I’m not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don’t and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I’m rejecting you when I’m not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I’d ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don’t believe me and have a feeling so deep I can’t find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I’d get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don’t want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don’t mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it’s empty without you and want what you want and think I’m losing myself but know I’m safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don’t deserve any less and answer your questions when I’d rather not and tell you the truth when I really don’t want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it’s all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it’s beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.”

Sarah Kane, Crave

sarahcane

Annunci

Torno.

Torno.

In maniera discontinua e con molte mezze misure, con la vita negli ennesimi stravolgenti scatoloni che perdono per strada cose dagli angoli spaccati, con le lampade accumulate in una stanza e i vestiti dell’estate nello zaino. Torno in una casa sconosciuta; non so dove sia la carta forno, non memorizzo gli interruttori come al solito, a volte dimentico dove ho parcheggiato. Ho la testa piena e il cuore all’altezza giusta, il cuore che fa il limbo sotto l’asticella delle liste di milioni di cose da fare, che come un ingranaggio butta fuori e butta dentro, sangue rosso, sangue bianco.

Torno con le liste della spesa nelle tasche dei cappotti, le liste dei “to do” sulle pagine a righe dei quaderni ad anelli, con le date segnate sul calendario.

Torno alla solitudine della tua assenza provvisoria, al cercarti la sera, al guardare fuori dalla finestra e dirsi che non si vuole uscire, e poi la febbre che attenua il dovere e il senso di condivisione, che annebbia il pensiero e lascia uscire un sentire ovattato, coperto da batuffoli di cotone.

Torno a stare avec moi même, con le presenze importanti che ogni tanto luccicano sullo schermo del cellulare come farfalle che vivono poche ore e poi scompaiono per riapparire in altri luoghi in cui non ho voglia di andare.

Torno ad ascoltare la radio, a cucinare il brodo, a rendere piccoli i sospiri e tappare i buchi dello scolapasta che fa acqua da tutte le parti, a non avere voglia di esserci per forza, a non rispondere alle domande, a non dover portare la giustificazione alle mie assenze ma pagarne inesorabilmente lo scotto.

Ci sono soltanto tre ore, il lunedì sera, e in quel lasso di tempo mentre guido nella pianura imbevuta di concimi aziendali e corro verso la pizza che hai cucinato.

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