Hunger.

Italian version: here.

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I have always felt I have a certain “hunger”, a kind of inner beast that always wants to incorporate everything.

It’s like it’s digesting very slowly, and it’s like seeing some things and people from the past, being digested slowly, that is, they don’t die right away.

A slow agony; in fact, the image that is projected is a person who is disappearing into the wall: we can see his hand, part of his face, and the rest has already been absorbed.

But this hunger has guided and guides my steps, because it never seems to be satisfied, and it is better this way, because if it stopped, it would mean being satisfied, and staying in the wrong place and life.

Instead you have to go on, go on, and it is hunger that possesses me, and makes me want to change the scenario every time.

After all, for large parts, this desire to know and find better situations has always saved me, because in this way I was able to never live too long in my damned past.

And it is since I was a kid that I have always wanted, after all, to find my situation, my natural environment.

After all, when you have stopped “squeezing” from the fruit, you understand that situations are too moving, even when, as a writer, you understand that you don’t even get inspiration anymore.

And you decide to stop writing about it as well, however satisfied you may be with the work.

But you also understand that you are no longer sentimental, and you have to stop talking about it, because now it makes you sick, now you don’t feel anything, now I don’t feel anything about it.

And today, from the new people I live, they tell me that I am rational, and it makes me smile, because someone thought I was not at all, today I understand that I have become one almost by force, also for a kind of “survival instinct”.

But if a part of me can cry for that romantic one that I don’t know if she is dying, or is dead, another part of me rejoices.

Because after all, it is better this way. Because now I see how much self-esteem I have, how much impatience I have, how much I can really talk to any girl today, and think: “if that’s okay, otherwise sticazzi”.

Ironic, a little.

Maybe today, if … if I met a lot of people that I lost a bit because of my insecurity, paranoia, not understanding a shit, sentimentality … maybe these people would have liked me, maybe they would have stayed.

But life is like this: it is with defeats that you understand how to win, it is by being ill that you understand how to go forward, to feel good.

And after you get rid of the pain, or what makes you feel bad, you understand what makes you feel good. That at times, you almost hear a voice from the past, telling you you’re sorry, but … the more time passes, the more this little voice becomes a whisper.

For those who want to stay, they can do it without compromise, without demanding. Whoever wants to resolve resolves, whoever wants to make peace, makes peace.

There is no indefinite time to wait to do it, I am now following my hunger, which always wants new things.

Constant need to evolve.

If I did not have this hunger, my life would have “ended” for a long time, in the sense that I would have been satisfied and fallen asleep, sometimes a little pissed off, sometimes a little too conditioned by old friendships.

As much as I love them, like unfortunately too many people, I think they are still a little conditioned by the initial idea they had of me when I was younger, and this bothers me.

Aware of this, and also aware of the fact that although (wrongly) I have insisted on certain ideas, the idea of ​​people who have distanced themselves from me will probably never change. Perhaps certain wounds remain, certain fears remain. Only maturity can save us, only hunger saves me.

I was very wrong, I’m very sorry, especially for myself, for the time wasted, I’m sorry for hurting someone, I’m sorry I did it to me, but then that’s enough, everything passes, everything must end.

Because I am never full.

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Many thanks! 😊

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