I'll betray you. These moist eyes will look away, I'll get distracted, Christmas lights will make me blind, no one will understand how much intense have been these moments.
Someone will speak lightly about you, and it will punch me right in the gut. I will be silent instead to take your side, when, in the attempt to console me about your absence, they will compare you with something else, with the future, and will make you lose.
It won't be you: the skyline on the sea will be another one, not better, not worse, just not yours.
You're home, you have become it, unpretentious, without ever asking. You've been only mine.
I shoot another one, I take one more photo, a blurry one for the wind that pulls me back and make me free at the same time.
How many megapixel do you need to be still home in six, seven, eight days?
I look at you and I lower my eyes. I'll betray you and you've already forgiven me.
(Malta)
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