“He taught me the art, that I didn’t know yet, of going in and out of my country and sometimes forget about it, the art of traveling across several continents and oceans in order to find it again, renewed and richer and richer in layers of memories and sensations. And what about our evenings and our nights? I wish I could stop them! Being alone, hands in hands, eyes in eyes, and exchange impressions, intuitions, words?
- People talk so much about first love, Marco, don’t they? They lie about it, as they do about anything else.
- It’s true, Modesta, and I couldn’t imagine it either. Unfortunately we realize it only when we get to our age. Did you notice how those young people on the bridge looked at us today? I was almost tempted to tell them about it, but they wouldn’t believe me.
No, it is impossible to communicate to anybody this joy pervaded with the vital excitement of challenging time together, of expanding it together, living it as intensely as possible before it’s time for the last adventure. And if this old guy of mine lies on me with his beautiful body, both heavy and light, and takes me like he is doing right now, or kisses me between my legs just like Tuzzu once used to do,
I strangely happen to think
that maybe death will be nothing more
than a full orgasm like this one.
- Are you sleeping, Modesta?
- Tell me about it, Modesta, tell me.”
From The Art of Joy, Goliarda Sapienza.