"More than seven years were gone since this little history of sorrowful interest had reached its close.
She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time, but alas, alas, she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.
She had used him ill. Deserted and disappointed him, and worse, she had shown a feebleness of character in doing so
which his own decided, confident temper could not endure.
She had given him up to oblige others.
She had been forced into prudence in her youth.
She learned romance as she grew older; the natural sequence to an unnatural beginning."
Persuasion, Jane Austen.

Monday 16 February 2009

Forse...

Stava lì seduta, fissando il vuoto, che per lei poi così vuoto non era, nella luce fioca di un tardo pomeriggio invernale. Su quella panchina vicino alla riva, che le permetteva di perdersi nei suoi sogni ad occhi aperti ogni volta che ne aveva voglia.
Guardava l'orizzonte toccare il mare, al suono di un gabbiano che volava vicino al faro, portando con sè storie lontane.
Perché mai ogni respiro sembra così difficile anche quando pensi di non affogare più... ?

M.

No comments: