Prologue

Everyone wanted something.

That was a reality, useless to pretend not to know it, reality had to be embraced, in its strange and painful sweetness, which however left a bitter taste in the mouth, right at the bottom of the throat, difficult, if not impossible, to drive away from the soul , together with the thousand questions that always accompanied it.

There were people who did not have the privilege of knowing how to consciously recognize their real strong and ardent desires, and were, thus, sadly forced to wait, sometimes for a time that might seem interminable, for someone to reveal to them the content of their same throbbing heart.

And there were those people, absorbed by the hypocrisy of destructive existence, who persisted incessantly and with difficulty in claiming that that same heart craved nothing.

The latter were the worst.

A heart, a human heart, can never boast of being so pure that it does not perceive the strong attraction that permeates desire, at times, very rarely, it can oppose it, it can try to deny it, to crush it, but it remains, persists to stain the soul of anyone who possesses feelings, and the more powerful they are, the more craving revels in them.

Therefore anyone who claims to have loved, at least once in their life, also admits to having desired, even with the foolishness of the mere thought. I had loved, coveted and desired with such intensity that I almost succeeded in suppressing every small and ephemeral other thought, which always, in comparison with love, cannot but appear insignificant.

Desire, first in the finest, most delicate forms, such as the joyful laughter of a child or the gust of air, which one cannot even feel, given by the gentle touch of the fragile wings of a brightly colored butterfly. M

My desire was, in its sweet simplicity, painfully complex and could, with incredible and singular ease, be expressed in a single word.

He.

He who with those magnetic gazes, launched by those silver irises that I knew by heart, sometimes streaked with hard steel and populated by the darkest shadows of the human soul, but which gave me the light that not even the first glimpses of sun rays allowed from dawn, they could donate.

He who talked and touched me with the delicacy with which a kind flower girl would have caressed the silky red petals of her roses, just blossomed and dripping with the morning dew.

However, the roses did have thorns.

And so the sweet flower girl, sooner or later, would have found herself observing the viscous liquid flowing between her fingers, the same vermilion color as their fingers, which can be nothing but blood, the same one that worries children so much.

Of those flowers, as beautiful as, if undervalued, dangerous, I bore the name and, always from them, my hair kidnapped the fiery and insinuating color.

He was my obsession, what I clung to, what anchored me to the world in my life, with his sparse smiles and kind words, which made me proud, because they were reserved only for me.

The same words that were not enough to help me in the enterprise of stopping him, when I felt him slip between my fingers, like grains of sand that, spiteful, always escape, carried away by the wind.

He who belonged to me but who I could not, at the same time, claim to possess.

His thoughts were my main priority and his breathing smoothly went hand in hand with mine.

We have always shared the laughter and joys of life, souls linked by a friendship that to define friendship is a sin, but when it came to pains and stinging truths, only the stories of my wounds seemed to escape from my lips and be absorbed and muffled by Him never the other way around.

In my ignorance, however, I couldn't claim not to know him.

The real desire of a human being could not derive from a lightning glance, but only from the force of the slow union of two essences, two minds and two souls in collision.

Love is not what a schoolgirl can feel, what comes from a heartbeat, which is unleashed at the sight of an older boy, noticed passing through the corridors.

I possessed knowledge of Him, which no other being could have the right to claim.

His biggest secret, the most hidden in the maze of his soul which, at least in a small, perhaps insignificant, facet, belonged a little to me too.

I preferred to ignore the inevitability of that knowledge, given by his staying at my house practically every day or by the fear of possible shadowing.

I wanted to wallow in the thought, however probable an illusion, that He had told me this because He placed in me at least half the trust that I so craved, and I poured into him in overwhelming quantities.

It is impossible for me to even think of his name without feeling the accelerated beats of my heart, which had become, by now, all too familiar, which must not have been too dissimilar to those of a little bird forced into a cage where it should not have been destined to stay.

In some moments of my existence this feeling had frightened me, it led me to wonder how much love could come to weigh on the soul of a human being, before overwhelming him.

I speak of love, but basically this word does not express, and cannot, seriously the meaning that I would like to give it.

Because what I feel is indefinable.

We, disastrous, clumsy and bungling human beings that we are, a bit 'all, at least in a quarter of the soul, still naive children, have always been miserly. We have always wanted, without even realizing it, control, knowledge.

All. Now common desires of the community, the right cravings, which in many cases have led to just and useful discoveries.

Finding the word, the definition, the word that best takes root in the Indescribable, however, is difficult, even impossible.

Such a great meaning cannot be crammed into just five letters, too many emotions, too many reactions.

Love.

That deep and poignant sensation, which frequently oppressed and weighed on the shoulders of those who felt it, but which never failed to make it worthwhile.

When you were in front of your Him everything that weighed down your chest every day, that, albeit fine and transparent, at the same time painful aftermath of suffering that accompanied you during the day, because of those same emotions that at that moment stirred the your body, your spirit and your heart dissolved in the air, flying, probably, among the white clouds.

This was what I felt.

I began to think that for me, as for the rest of the world, the thoughts of my Him would remain a dark unknown, a big question mark created by black ink.

But it probably didn't matter, what really mattered was what moved in my mind and stirred my heart and soul.

The Indescribable cannot be erased, it remains unchanged over time, like an engraving trapped forever in the rock.

Only life would lead me to a path, the only thing I had to do was live it.