be gone. Nico, I say.
not see him again for days. in fact, he said that he would leave at the end of the month. we.
my roommate and I started I did not notice anything. he left without saying goodbye, tutt'affatto. I must not be his much remains in my heart, I, as a person. it's definitely worth, and maybe he will do his part.
party will be in silence. have emptied her room with rubber stoppers inserted in the ears, salty air of the morning. I was not there, I was in Rome, probably.
in Rome, to sleep for the last time in the red room, the yellow house. the house and the room of ten years of life, round round. last time, the second last night, a few months ago, it was sadder.
now the context is already disheartened, those walls are not breached.
the trip kept me away from the mess room Sparigi. we must do something to stem it. I said, the room is a true reflection of the head of its inhabitants, it is even obvious.
in my rooms there are never any pictures or posters that have hung myself. There are never many books in sight. there are always musical instruments scattered here and there.
there is always some object uncomfortable, a bed that squeaks, a corner chipped.
making up something to eat or a cup now empty.
a bulb that does not work, or that emits a light too harsh.
'm going to smooth out the keys from the blacksmith.
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