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Wednesday 2nd September 2020
When I wake up, I reach out to feel Chiara's body next to mine: nothing. I open my eyes: she is not there. I also look at the staircase leading downstairs: empty. Only in American films, when they wake up after a night of love, the camera lingers on the clothes scattered from the entrance up the stairs to the bedroom. In reality it is hardly like this: my parents are on the chair, her gods no trace of her. How many times have I wished it would happen, how many have I imagined every detail, every moment. Did it happen or am I imagining it this time too?
Also in the movies, when one of the two wakes up alone, he finds the other either in the kitchen preparing a pancake breakfast for two, or in the bathroom taking a shower and maybe inviting him to come in. I
