Bella ragazza,
If we cannot find silence, we’ll have to learn to discover it, if not outside, then inside. When I dwell in this silence, or when your presence has imposed it upon me, I acquiesce in a feathery joy, that slowly hovers on the knowledge of your existence and our mutual past.
It is not always your eyes, your smile or some other obvious element of your beauty, that combines into that discernible idea that is called Francesca. Sometimes it might be just the feeling of caressing you, but separated from the other senses, alone and distinct, the stroking of some nameless part of your thigh or the feeling that we glanced together at something which we now don’t remember, since memory selects by importance.
To be aware that you share with a person that state which gives touching a language of its own, makes pleasurable the incomprehensibility of whispered words I remember, in a language that only our fingers could understand.
This metamorphosis of consciousness, this erotic alertness, which searches body and mind, to find meaning and create metaphors that will increase its beauty and intensity, is a terrain that remains hidden for many. How can one explore it, without concealing it?
The erotic, makes one person distinct from everyday life. It is fatal, to associate the everyday, with the erotic; for it thus loses what distinguishes it, and fades into routine. That is why, I do not want to learn your everyday life, nor will I reveal mine. Remember my previous letter: truth in itself, whether it is a truth about ourselves or about things in general, is not necessarily beautiful nor necessarily ugly. If we pledge allegiance to Beauty, then what is important, is not for us to know each other, but to be Beautiful.
Love is in love with Beauty, not with Truth.
I am no ordinary man.
I know I’m different; I dare to say I’m better. Maybe not so much because I do some things, but more so because I don’t. Therefore I’m not angry or sad, or anything else that is commonly expected.
I do not expect anything from you, do not expect anything from me.
I love you like I love the sea:
Not because she moves the way I want her to,
but because she moves.
She is not calm, so I may swim in her, she is not angry so I won’t.
I love her when I swim in her, I love her when I don’t.
How can one escape her beauty?
When not in her,
one can hear her.
When not near her,
one can see her.
When she doesn’t want me calling,
I can’t help myself recalling.
It is only I, that can refuse her beauty; refuse my skin, sight, hearing and memory.
and sometimes I will: to receive is as difficult as to give.
I love what is beautiful; I don’t need it to be mine.
