Dedicated to Alec Hahn
I tear time and from this side of the world two minutes in an hour do me the favor to transform my thoughts into feelings.
Today I opened a present, waiting’s present.
Inside, beyond courage or enthusiasm, I found fear born in the insecurity of not being loved as I love.
Inside, beyond two minutes, there were two years defeated by recovered jealousy.
But, differing from waiting’s one, your present was not a past fear, but a confession.
I have to confess it will be the first time my literature is written in English.
I have to confess I like to lie to myself or to tell me the truth about our spontaneous and random connection.
I have to confess fear has been transformed into the knowledge that I still can fear because I still can love.
I finally have to confess I love you or, at least, I haven’t found a way to hold myself not to do it.
