The Story So Far

Sometimes is better not to think.
Sometimes is better to enjoy the quite around you, and not to think about the mess inside.
I guess I have to to think I'm lucky, and of course I am.
Today I have a little talk with a girl that works in the office where I'm following the training here in Wembley: she had bad experiences in her life, problems that never depended by her behoaviour, by her actions. But she's happy, she's quite, and she was wondering why we Italians has to be so sad or shy about our life, why we never "look the brighter side of the life", quoting the Pythons.
And she's fuckin' right.
I'm trying to think about me, not what happens around me, 'cause is really a shit.
And I know I shouldn't have nothing to complaint about: I've a house, a job, a lot friends that I know I can trust on, a family who loves me, hobbies.
But still I think about something's missing in my life, soemthing that I really don't know.
Maybe is love.
I'm quite sure it is.
I still wonder about a girl that does not even exists, someone around the world that is not in London, in Rome.
Someone that I'm sure is the missing piece of my puzzle-life, but still she's not falling next to me.
Maybe it's you, reading my first (and maybe last) english pubblication.
Maybe we've chatted since few minutes ago, and we don't know.
Maybe I left you years ago, maybe you're in the room next to mine.

But I still breath, still walk, still look at this wonder-fuckin'-world.
I love to blame myself, you all should know.
And doing it in English make all this stuff more phylosophical, intresting.
Mine.

Hope you've liked it.
I did, and this is all that matters to me.

Fuck you.