Il Magnifico writes a letter to the son who will be born in 6 months to XMas Lady. Between diapers, threesomes, and an overly enthusiastic grandmother, the most tender and surprising letter on the blog.
Letter to XMas Baby… my son! (Surprise!)
L
Meteors
M
The women in my life are meteors: they enter, they shine, they disappear. A poem by the Magnifico, a confession, and writing as an antidote to death.
The final goodbye: the bittersweet abyss of relationships
T
A narrow alley in the shadow of Milan’s Duomo. A gloomy, drizzly day: the sky is gray and uncertain, much like my mood. I’m parking my three-wheeled scooter when I see her right in front of me: Piccolina. My heart jumps as I recognize her. An innocent baby face; the usual sexy eyeliner winging out her eyes, just so she doesn’t look underage (she’s 21, but looks younger)...
goodbye, little one
g
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...
It’s Closing!
I
I’ve decided to shut down the blogs. For several reasons.The first is that more and more often the protagonists of the stories end up being bothered by some detail in my accounts. Almost never because of something I actually did, but always because of some free interpretation, some embellishment used to decorate the story.All of us, every day, have hundreds of fleeting thoughts. Imagine...
Saying Goodbye to the Perfect Girl
S
Okay, it’s true, the blog is closed and I shouldn’t have written anymore.But I can’t stay silent about my farewell to SweetTits, which happened just a few hours ago.There she is, knocking at my door. She’s been waiting a month to see me because of my COVID isolation. A month in which she did everything to stay close to me: phone calls, messages, she even sent me roses...
Loving is Letting Go: of Yourself, the other Person, your Own Limits.
L
11:35 PM, Milan.It’s been 8 hours and 50 minutes since I texted the American girl again, the girl I was crazy about.Two months and 27 days since her last message.Two months and 24 days since my last attempt to talk to her. Little? A lot? Time is fleeting or eternal, dense or sparse, depending on how intensely you live it.For me, these two months and 24 days felt like serving a full sentence...
