I had never thought writing would be this hard.
Almost like a pain, walking slowly from the fingers up to the shoulder.
As for me, I don’t care about written things.
My life is two-dimensional. I didn’t choose it, it’s just like that, it’s my life. And I’m good with it.
I just miss depth. What makes you able to see life in perspective.
Sometimes I feel meaningless.
And yet I am alive. I love, dream, grieve, cry, laugh, I am happy and desperate.
Now more than ever before.
Because that third dimension, unperceived by many of those who run their fingers on me, was a gift for me from Giulio.
Just like magic! I didn’t know it, I’ve never had it before!
And know I got it! And that’s a whole other story! Many other stories!
His little brave, patient hands laboured to dig grooves of images inside of me!
Scattered signs, sometimes twisted, sometimes composed, indecipherable to anyone. But not to me, as in his eyes I can see fantasy lands that I could never have without him.
That’s why we became thick as thieves.
And to think that I am just a white paper in the hands of Giulio, a child who learns dreaming through the signs he leaves upon me: his big world, my third dimension.