I come home after three weeks in the US. The house is cold and empty. I go upstairs to bed. And I see the stuffed animal and the eternal rose I had given to Piccolina. She brought them back to me at the end of our story.
I see them on the nightstand she had chosen to better furnish my house, all covered in LEDs. Next to the mirrors she had found on SHEIN. Piccolina wasn’t good at showing affection with words, she did it through gestures.
I think about her often. A few times I’ve written to her, but she responds with the coldness of someone who finds it painful to open an old wound. So I stopped.
Good luck, little one
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