Note.

I realized that you had gone when, in the crowd, I left to feel your heat, your fragrance, your charm. Your absence in my bed made me feel cold in summer’s nights. A confused image,  worn-out smile and empty bed, is all remain of you.
You had been reduced to a bad care little memory that sometimes I carry with me. I am still asking to myself where you are. I look for you, but I cannot find you. Time is passing by, I tiredness make refuse. I write letter to you that I never will send, and in between the lines I give you smiles as presents, but you never will see it.
Seasons are passing by. Spring, summer, autumn, winter, spring again. It seems an eternal circle that never will end. I am dizzy, I fall, and I stand, I turn to suffer, and I cannot progress thinking about moments I never lived, mixing memories with wishes I would like to realize.
One day I woke up, I wrote a note, I put a full stop. I closed the note-book, I put it in a drawer, and I left there an ideal story that I never lived, but, at the same time I would like to live it. I put away it and I started to write in another notebook, on others pages, other story of an uncertain ending.