(This story was written by Lilli Guacci. I read it, I liked it, and I asked the author if I could put it on Stories. Lilly agreed, and thank you. So, here it is here.)
Taci.
Ta-us-mi pictures you wish to reflect. I could see a wrinkle, like a wound that would begin to bleed and I would be fatal.
know that I can not afford the luxury that other women have already included as an option, years as wrinkles, signs of soft food weaknesses, flaws, errors by nursing, pleated flesh a bit 'here and a little' there.
All matters that the ladies call In their defense, how to be mature and feminine, and touting as a signal of voluptuousness to defend the territory and raise their curtains before the eyes of men imprisoned.
I hear them howling at the top even from here, men in their cage.
because I know them.
Why I hear you tossing and turning in bed, their men, year after year, after unrest unrest, now exposed themselves, but not the rest of the world.
They suffer because they are afraid of having committed a big mistake, error of life, that does not ever sleep and wakefulness. They feel
escape the beating by the hands, the opportunities flow, stop the street, on cymbals, ahead of 16 year old kids who pass the quarter d’ora alle fermate del tram, appiccicati, e poi ne passa uno di tram e poi ne passa un altro e quei due sempre li, con le labbra che non si staccano, ansimano e cadono uno nell’altro. E i loro maschi, inchiodati al semaforo, mani sul volante, io li vedo: lo stereo li sta stendendo con la musica anni ’70 che gli parla di quando avevano solo sogni, pupille incollate su quelli della fermata del tram, a morire d’invidia e di desiderio, di nostalgia e di struggimento, e di preoccupazione per gli anni restanti della loro vita.
Hanno la clessidra disegnata sulla faccia e un punto interrogativo sulla testa che le mogli – in un grottesco equivoco - prendono per una aureola.
E invece quell’interrogativo weighs on the head and on the flap. Why are they in the body - like a promise that you wait for a few years collecting - memory and desire and the desire to try again, poised, a violent punch to the stomach. Poised to see if you are still standing, if it fails.
They wonder if they ever happen again - a bargain as a kiss to the tram stop - they wonder if they can or if they have the courage, if the road is already laid, where surprises are over, if c ' is still living life or just days, if there is the possibility of a broader, more tense muscles, teeth between his lips, furrows from new mark with the nails, squeeze on a skin not known.
They wonder if there are still, if they can renew or even recognize eyes, doubt the ridiculous pinned on his lapel when he turns to peek shyly a goddess who passes away.
Backs straight as supplication, hands on the paper work and are interrupted by ideas so vital and violent, which open a window of windows, one after another, one after another, that tomorrow I go to the doctor, perhaps an analyst, but it is not so bad really, maybe you are stressed out or maybe they told me that around 50 .... to get out of his mind for a few hundredths of a second, every morning in the shower.
This is stirred in the halos come home, but almost serene.
But I know I have it in your briefcase inside a packet of energy in most, who do not know yet where to park. And every day in more than one grain is added, increasing labor and volume expectations.
and expectations and then become requirements in insecurities and then waiting.
Stalled in the company of a mere expectation. Waiting
fearful, trembling, wet chick with the heart of python.
What? Where? Who?
not know it yet, but me.
me.
of me, I've learned to deny the wrinkles and find these survivors and to welcome them with subdued ceremonies.
of me, I protection, then care for them.
of me, from where they are, sure to be upgraded again, so make sure that my love is to forget the price they pay.
come with the arrogance of the powerful, after I've accepted, but have to be filled eyes again respect and strength and real security and certainty that all will be well again.
arrive bundle of nerves, arrive with too many cigarettes, there's swearing, wearing a body that has not quite enjoyed and stayed. They are hungry and devour, thirst and slurp, and eat quickly, all at once forever. Safe arrival of money and killed in the genitals with his head that off ever. They come thinking that love means face clothes and the first few times so I let them fuck with the clock on him, because they themselves do not take up is so simple and not done at once.
rough puff pastry are accumulated over time, every day a thin veil of leaden gray spot above the center of pleasure. Not strength, not cloth, gently remove them with apparent deviation shyness, knowing full well that the determination shall have full pockets.
must be able to think of being on the side of strength and freedom, not being employees, while the real life slipping territory week after week become my sheets and aromas that breathe in the fumes of my bathrooms. Damp cloth hot vapors, do not think not to think, deep breath.
by now have thrown their heart beyond the obstacle. I'm just the first wave, the great leap perhaps will never come, but they go like they have found a new protection for their panting.
Some are moving forward. Other open a new window, only one new window.
I do what I do. Do not buy
wrinkles. Mitigating the Cedo
halos in turmoil, peering envious pairs of kids, the tram stops.
