I have to forget it, to make my way out when I don’t know how many steps I have left. I have to see how many steps, how many steps come out of love! 4-5? Better not to be more than that as even virtual lies are tiring. I should be able to say that I was happy like I haven’t been for a long time, and that’s probably what I could be. Not even a month, in small doses, after 15 years, I could have done something serious, snared with happiness and die as well. Wouldn’t there have been some irony of fate? At least that’s what I could have understood, drowned with too much happiness suddenly that I swallowed and died. First. Yes! To break all ties, that’s the first step, that there’s no object to remind you because if there’re no obstacles in the way, it becomes less likely to remember, even accidentally. Every thought, every longing that might occur in the evening or the morning or when inevitably you will see people who love each other on the street, that desire becomes a pain. The energy that was until recent times only—-the starting point of happiness, it still gathers in a single pile, like a campfire, in the middle of the soul, where there is more scratch and then waits until it catches fire. When it burns, then everything that will be thought of will be automatically drawn into the fire. It will burn smouldering, sometimes with much smoke because many of the hopes are alive, green, that still miss, miss the longing but have the burning that you give them before you have died. Burning can take quite a long time, but it’s a step that cannot be bypassed, it is forbidden to keep anything unburned because in that place there must be neither debris nor heat. Once extinguished, gone, the fire that burned everything will leave behind a void. This emptiness is essential, the more stretched the fire is, the more the fire will have consumed most of what happened in love, the sooner regrets can be established, one by one. Not slight regrets every time memory or a word or a state arisen from the bottom of memory or perception, but only the big ones, domineering, all-powerful, like a storm sweeping the void and changing it with its power to dominate and kneel. Then if the storm passes, because it is a rule that storms, however dominant, pass, cannot last forever; when the storm has passed in its pace, there remains a fragile but new place as a beginning of the world, which we will again learn to walk,---first with fear, but will immediately take the first steps once the storm passes. It is a general rule; it is not known how it happens, but the return is as reasonable as pain or sadness. What remains, anyway, following a love of this kind? Maybe there remains a photo and nothing more, a simple picture, that can be put in an album, that can be viewed from time to time with a nostalgia from which there hardly stays anything to understand much from. I begin to gather all the thoughts and images, all the things that have happened, in one pile, all thrown there without my care or the order or the pain that will cause their throwing, must all be gathered. With it, the fire must begin almost immediately; at first, everything is so alive and green that it will go out over and over again. You will come to take from the fire a memory that you feel you cannot separate or that you do not think you can let burn, disappear forever. It seemed to you that your own soul or your heart or sometimes your mind would be filled with fire and burn if you do not save it, but the rule is not to try to keep anything, on the contrary, to start throwing away what is most painful, to leave the things you imagine will tear you to the blood, the first to be covered by fire, to burn. As you already know the pain will be twice as high, you will hurt the memory of love, and it will hurt you burning. But the sooner the essential memories will leave, the sooner, the smaller things will remain at the end,—-sometimes comical, for example, all the flaws that amuse you, the faster and more definitive the burning will be, and the remaining void will be full of waiting, the more and more they will keep you alive. Yes, it’s not really a void; it’s not a void. It’s just a void of love, and always such a void has some steam coming out of the fire that has passed, some ash, maybe, will follow but that has the quality to change the meaning. Suffering will turn into waiting. Now I take love made unexpectedly, a boundless desire that has drowned every other feeling, and that turns into real love which is the most beautiful, sincere memory. It’s the first one I throw away, it’s so vivid that it hurts, it’s so hard to throw it away, but I hope that if I start with it, the rest will come by itself. All the love on the net, every written word that perhaps for some, has no value of a gesture, but that has passed through my soul as real as any fact. I don’t know if I’m going to throw them all away at once because there have been a few months of joy in which I’ve allowed myself to be happy through forgetting myself and the surrounding life. I’m going to delete all the messages, absolutely all. Once the deleted messages fill the pile instantly, their mere deletion will be enough, because in reality, I actually deleted everything that gave me the feeling on the net that remained only in words hanging pleasantly. And only from there may appear, when the words burn, after a simple delete, there will be nothing. They’ll disappear, they won’t even hurt as things in real now, like red or yellow flowers. An evening we ate and then we walked, an afternoon where we just kissed and hugged---everything! Lucky I’m as I have little to throw away, all gathered can make a pile that will barely catch fire but sometimes when there are few, it burns hard and long. In fact, it’s not right, it’s never good when love ends, even if it’s a short and intense love like ours or a long one that dissipated in time until annihilation but not wholly. Short loves are hard to burn because always when a desire is not entirely consumed, you get the impression that something could have followed. Moreover, it is the regret that you do not know how long could last, how much longer it could stretch into feelings and moods and glances and real love and kisses or so many other things from which love is made and which sometimes cannot even be called or imagined as love but only when you love to understand them. I don’t have many memories, maybe once when he told me he was going to be my anchor or when he said to me that he adored me glued to the memories. I remember his laughter without a care, even the child in him, the love in his eyes when we look at each other, all in the fire, a memory on top of the other, and feel how I have to set fire, but I postpone for a moment because maybe the moment to come will bring something like comfort. You hope until the fire encompasses everything that perhaps something could be saved, you will be left with something without actually understanding that precisely that is not allowed to happen, you are not allowed to hold anything because the burning is not complete nor the healing will be. In a relationship, sometimes, leaving is much better than explaining. When you have to explain your stand, or you need much explanation from the other side, and it happens often, maybe it’s a signal that it’s time to say goodbye to welcome peace. It would help if you were thrown into the same fire and not try to stop the flames because stopping the flames could trigger a more dangerous explosion elsewhere, a fire which would not burn memories but even pieces of your soul. It is the danger, in fact, not to throw away what is still useful and fire encompasses every inch of your being,—-essential parts of a man who is a man and not a phoenix bird. Burned souls never recover. Therefore, you must be very careful when the fire begins to be enough burning. I put all the memories; I use nothing; I bring nothing but pain. What is the use would it have to keep them? Better throw them away without fear, though admittedly it hurts. It hurts now; it hurts in the fire, and then there will not even be the memory of burning. The burning leaves no traces of this kind. You have to be brave, to be able to put there everything that you thought to be love, illusions because a love that ends must harbour so many fantasies, the easiest thing to settle, after all, unpleasant memories. Sometimes there are some last memories, but you do not have to make a mistake to start with them because if you throw away all that is unpleasant, first you might have the surprise to wake up with all the pleasant memories that together can form a perfect love. It is a race that you have to avoid. First, the happiest, always the happiest, the ones that make you suffer the easiest, the ones that long to the end of your soul. Yes, the love that I made unexpectedly, out of the blue, and that came as a little breeze at sea and then came out unleashed with waves and waters, words and wind. A love on half a bed trembled because there was a time when we wanted it, a love that was demanded made itself immediately a commandment above absolutely anything we would have thought or decided before we got there. This will go away first, with no discussion, because in my long solitude that I missed, everything I really lacked, every comfort, every look that was just for me—-and what could be harder than letting them go forever! On fire, without looking back or forward, without looking into my heart who might want to remember. There must be no memory left, you must not be able to form any more memories, for every little memory hurts as much as all in one place. And therefore, if you gather them and set them on fire once, it will not hurt more. On the contrary, by gathering them together, you will have only pain, and who can judge the pains and sorrows to compare them! No one. I wish I couldn’t bear to say that thing that everyone advises me to say; it was nice for a month and then not---that’s it. But when you’re in the middle of that month how can you think like that, from the outside it’s simple, but when you’re in the middle, it can’t be that way, because happiness is never enough for you, satisfaction is not enough, on the rare occasions when you can find it and be aware that what you found is tough to give up. This will never happen to me again because I will never give anyone more chance in my life. It’s the last time. I should have made that decision a long time ago, but I don’t know why I didn’t, I was drunk by the mirage that someone else might show up. And in my case, it came up... for a month, not even a year like that favourite song of mine, but a month, nothing more. I’m going to recover it with all the methods that I now know, no forgotten or ignored practice, to wave all because that’s the only way you can find one way that really works, chosen at random from the few that exist. Actually, there’s no recipe; there’s no way to come back like before it’s actually a crap for every time you’re sadder and more preoccupied and more distant and every time you propose it to be the last time, every time you start over. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to move on; I have no idea. But it’s so hard now that I still have memories. We were able to break away from the present and live in a kind of time of our own where we were happy a few times in life you can be happy. Yes, I think that’s what we’ve managed, to see the end of our relationship as something natural that needs to be integrated, that can potentiate the relationship and not ruin it. So said up to this is very lovely but I have the feeling that this happened differently. And I wish I wasn’t right. Actually, I’d like to stay with him, not leave, because it seems that I’ve finally found my place after so many searches. And it’s with him, in it, next to him. That’s what I think I found with him, the balance that I’ve missed so many times. And I don’t need words or ideas to express. I just need him to feel it. It is his presence that gives me this state, not always when he too can come apart and be pure between us, unviable by the reality that can sometimes be particularly disturbing. When we’re both with each other and only the two of us, then it’s like the universe is in a different order of which two of us are essential and also natural. And I think that beyond the love I feel the act of making love, this is actually the most important thing, you and I mean something together, we are a hieroglyph that makes meaning only when we are together. But it turns out that it doesn’t mean much to me. That’s what I feel, but I don’t know if the things I’m feeling now are going to last, I’m stunned by the change that has been taken place in me. I’m calm, much calmer and I miss nothing but it. All I want now is to spend as much time as possible, to listen to all his words, and nothing bores me, no subject, however far away from me. However, at the same time, the state of happiness does not hold because I always remember that it is not actually a life plan but a holiday plan and however hard to understand the reason of this happening, it will unfold, the end is already written as in all the other relationships of my life. No matter, in how many ways the ending was written, I thought that model of my life was over, but it’s present, and whatever I do, I don’t get rid of it.