OTTOBRE

The sky, like the screen of an old phone, is a bit blurry, but it's glowing. The bass is thumping in my head, there are remnants of thoughts in the glass, and someone is whispering "call me later" like a password to another dimension. Love here isn't tenderness, but a ring where jealousy and Timberlands splash thru puddles instead of punches. Everything seems to be falling apart, but then, as if on cue, the tired but honest sun appears. It sounds like an attempt to laugh in the face of chaos: in a world where everyone plays by clichés, two people simply drown in each other. Without plans, without rules, with that same "crazy in love" that smells of rain, smoke, and a little bit of freedom.