Normally I don’t talk about myself. It’s not that I am shy, but I don’t feel like confiding my anxieties, my weaknesses or my dreams to somebody I don’t know.
It’s somewhat like getting undressed with the light on: you need intimacy.
So, often I don’t know what to say; everything seems banal, useless, not interesting for those who are listening to me in a world where people speak rather than listen… maybe I am that way, too.
Very few times, though, I happened to meet someone to whom I found myself telling everything that crossed my mind, everything I felt, in a matter of a few minutes.
Even the most intimate things, those I didn’t even tell my brother.
My brother… if I think twice about it we never told anything to each other. So many times we talked, yet we never said anything intimate, or important, nothing of what I might have told to somebody I had known only for an hour.
Nonetheless, we love each other and the feeling that binds us is a strong one, maybe so strong that it doesn’t need words.

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