Dreams & frizzy hair

Two days ago has been the Memorial Day and for all the entire time I’ve had the feeling I was living a Sunday dressed like a Monday.

Usually Sunday is the day in which I go from still wearing the pajama, to wear the pajama already.  Despite this and the bipolar weather I’ve decided to go out for a walk.

I’m a rebel; I didn’t bring any umbrella with me.

I was obsessed by the idea of buying ‘ Letters to Vera ’, a collection of letters from Vladimir Nabokov to his wife.
On my way to Barnes & Noble I stopped.

I’ve collected a nice number of books so far and this is the paralyzing question that popped into my mind:

How will I bring all this books back home to Italy?

The ghost of the time passing quickly was now real.

New York has been in my mind since Kevin McCallister got lost in Home alone 2, but there wasn’t any suite at Plaza hotel in my wishes.

When I was a child I wanted to be a writer and live in a penthouse without the kitchen.

Now I’m in New York and I work in a writing school; in the place where I live my room is on the top floor and there is no kitchen available to guests use.

I love to think that life has its own ways to make your dreams come true.

I was thinking about this while I was seated on a bench in the middle of a small park where I’ve never been before. The water in the fountain was making the air wet and I could feel my hair become frizzy; the City was quiet in an unrealistic way.

I put on my headphones and I started walking directionless.

Maybe not all those who wander are lost…



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