Je crois plus en rien
Je sens plus le bien
J'avance mais je sais pas si je verrais demain!
"Non va come vorrei!"
- A volte vinci, a volte perdi, a volte sbagli
A volte vivi, a volte muori
A volte vivi la vita degli altri.
(I no longer believe in anything, I no longer feel anything good. I'm making progress, but I don't know if I'll see tomorrow!
"Nothing goes the way I want it to!"
- Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you fail, sometimes you live, sometimes you die,
sometimes you live other people's lives.
Lous and the Yakuza together with Sfera Ebbasta - Je ne sais pas. Translation by 4ajbukoshka, whose Italian is still far from perfect and who, much to her chagrin - and that of anyone who has to listen to her - is still incredibly and unhappily in love.)
"Drama? That's MY cue!", Miss Incorrigible-Hopeless-Romantic-4ajbukoshka apparently thought to herself when she agreed to the non-date with the Italian after months of radio silence.
It was the second time she'd bumped into him in a week - on Wednesday. I wonder if he's pursuing her She'd probably still be happy about it if he was.
Actually, she's still pissed at him, his departure, and the fact that he didn't even apologize for his behavior.
It was not without reason that 4ajbukoshka's good friend had made Don Gelato into Don Giovanni and then Cacasotto, advising her never to let him breathe in her direction at all again.
Now, however, 4ajbukoshka is once again faced with her wardrobe with the big question of what to actually wear. During the day she had worn a white summery Marylin Monroe cut dress and light blue sneakers with pink laces and white platform. Since it seems kind of wrong to show up to a non-date in a white dress, and because it's already evening and cold, she wants to change. But none of the dresses in her closet feel right right now. Neither do any pants.
Since her nose works better than her eyes, and she also cares a lot more about how other people smell than how they look or even how they're dressed, Signorina Chaybudumheadkoshka wanders over to her little treasure chest. She doesn't have much choice.
The rude ringing from the front door snaps her out of her thoughts.
Before she can even think "oh, damn, is it that late already?!" or "since when is this guy actually on time?!", Signor Heartbreaker had appeared at the front door and was already knocking.
Signorina Chaybukoshka blindly grabs one of the samples and sprays off. Changed she is not either. "Bliiiin!" she curses softly to herself as she hops to the door with one shoe on, donning the other, accompanied by a smoky scent.
"Oh dear. Of all things!" it pops into her head. The 'affordable' version of a wedding perfume, she recognizes the scent wafting around her head as she makes her way to the door. Rarely must 50m2 have felt so big and the walk through have felt so long.
She opens the door and is sure: even the thousandth time she would still have a small heart attack at the sight.
There he stands, tall, his hair shaved short on the sides and curled in the middle, insanely handsome with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps away faster than you can shout "Climate protection!"
I wonder if, before they leave, he might briefly for little Italians. Of course.
So now, instead of changing, Signorina uses the time to pack some more food for the trip and think about her outfit choices, including perfume. "Stay positive. Take it easy! Law of attraction. Self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe this is a sign and this will be the best day of your life, hahaha." She, who is really more of a Murphy's law kind of girl, is trying to mentally set herself up for a successful outing.
What does she have to lose.
After Signor Verbotengutlooks over her new apartment and admires the little works of art, she grabs her (art) leather jacket and slides down the banister in front of him.
It's a wonderful evening with lots of sweets, because Verfressovitsch4ajbukoshka has struck again and thrown the diet overboard, conversations that take place as always at what feels like 100 decibels, and never-ending discussions about who is right and who is not and which language is the more beautiful or even the most beautiful in the world - Russian or Italian (Italian of course, so says the Italian, anyway, the Russian-speaking part holds back, because he or she does not know all the languages of the world and is not a native speaker of Italian. she doesn't know all the languages of the world and instead names those languages that are NOT).
It's almost as if the last few months never happened, all familiar yet terribly exciting.
Because there's no kiss goodbye this time, just a broken heart and a 4ajbukoshka who will spend the next few months sadly-hopelessly-hopefully reminiscing, pouring herself half a glass of red wine for the moment and dancing around the apartment on tiptoe socks.
Mantieni il bacio
Oltre l'errore del tempo
Fanne qualcosa di eterno
Non lasciarne cadere neanche solo un frammento
Come polvere sul pavimento
Non staccare le labbra neanche un solo secondo
E non farti distrarre dal rumore di fondo
Perché alla fine ogni volta
È l'amore che ci salva
Dalla ferita del mondo...
(Michele Bravi - Mantieni il bacio (Keep the kiss) - if anyone wants to translate it themselves)