It hurts to wait with love if love is somewhere else.

it's as if life in me had speeded up
while life around me slowed down to a pace unbearably slow for me.

i have realized that while i have learnt to wait for love
(a useful but rather painful thing)
i remained the same unpaitent person...
unpaitent not towards others,
towards me.
'perfectionist'-some people say
(wanting to scold my mother, for someone is to be blamed for the faults of my character)

ehm. instead of perfectionist i'd rather use the term
'overachiever'...and obviously 'testarda'(stubborn)
i think
standing at the top of a scale in the barthroom
ripping off wallpaper (not caring about my fear of height and my chances of falling)
'im not weak!'-i think
moving bags of powdered concrete of 25kgs each
'im not weak!' -i repeat
mixing the powder with water
and (to the surprise of all) doing the 'job of men'

the feeling of having to prove (to myself) my own strength
has been the main issue of the weekend

but when a girlfriend of mine calls saturday night in tears
when i decide not to go over
and wake up and call her
and she doesnt answer
i realize i am weak....
a terror holds me
and i almost scream:
SHE CANT BE DEAD, SHE CANT HAVE ...

but i keep it in,
swallow
my face looks pallid and my family notices
but her phonecall arrives half an hour later
and i calm down

my mind travels in time and remembers last winter
and all of a sudden
instead of going through the bad parts
it scans for peace...
and i remember how warm did i feel
looking into the eyes of an angel.

'it hurts to wait with love if love is somewhere else'
- read this morning

i have always thought that even if love is somewhere else(too) it is pirmarily
in me:
I AM LOVE.

am i love?is love still in me?or did the waiting finish it all?
why did i wait? did i want to punish myself?
anyone can commit a fault sometimes.

I wasnt faithful....i hurt.
i wasnt there...she died.

and my stomach feel upside-down and i feel dizzy

se nn era colpa mia perché nn son capace di scuasarmi???
perché penso che é giusto che nn son amata?
perché mi torturo con pensieri di genere?