YARA

The morning after

I realised I became an adult when in the mornings I couldn’t sleep in anymore/ despite my first alarm being set at 8:12am, I find myself and my wide-open eyes awake at 7:45 with the constant feeling of being late/ then I come to my senses and realise that unfortunately or not, Rome is a pool of chronic latecomers
–
Eventually, I was late too. I get to the studio seven minutes late but I’m obviously still the first one to get there/ I never figured out how to open this lock but it’s too warm out to wait for someone else to get here, I strive/ I push the door and don’t even notice when it opens without me turning the key in/ I look up and my heart skips a beat: my letter 35 is not on my desk
–
A breath in, a breath out, I count to 10/ on my toes
–
In my head a network of intertwined red threads connects a myriad of images/ it so happens to reach immediate, hasty conclusions/ the meeting room chair looks like it belongs at the back of every self-respecting teenager’s room/ I told them not to give the keys to the new trainee
–
A couple of steps and I’m stunned/ the TIC/TIC/TIC of fingers/ leaning on her elbows on the ground, with her legs up moving back and forth like they’d do while waiting for your first love’s message at fifteen/ fishnets stockings of the most peculiar colour/ it’s my typewriter/ I go to say something but at that moment her gaze crosses mine/ her smile is fire
–
I’ve always had many beliefs in my life, but the truth is that I just constantly stumble between my uncertainties/ my stomach writhes exactly like it used to do when I was fifteen and looking into my first love’s eyes/ You breakfast with Cristiano and I?/ Cristiano is the insufferable trainee who definitely misunderstood me when I told him he could use the studio at any time of the day or night
–
Her Russian accent feels like music despite/TIC/TIC/TIC/ I’m still petrified while I try to figure out to which part of my brain I should listen to/ the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life keeps tic-ing the button keys so annoyingly that it makes me feel like screaming/ but a word has yet to come out of my mouth
–
And here’s the damn creaking of the door, no one dares to buy oil to fix that, the room lights up/ how can I stop doing everything myself if whenever I ask someone else I end up being dissatisfied?/ a glimpse out of the corner of my eye is enough to see that obnoxious Hawaiian fantasy/ honey, Italian breakfast is here as promised: cornetto and cappuccino!/ why the fuck is he screaming, I wonder
–
He finally notices me/ motionless, in silence, I look like my mum whenever she would wait up for me ‘till four am/ the idiot babbles something out/ I want to thank whoever gave me the gift of speaking with my eyes, I can’t never find the right words for the right moment/ Yeah well… here’s my friend Yara I’m so sorry she literally didn’t know where to sleep so…
–
I close the door behind me/ You have five minutes, tops/ I light up a cigarette and I think: responsibility sucks