There was a boy who had a cat. There was a cat that was cold, and there was the winter that was insolent. There was some grain that had dried up and there was hunger for a hundred people. Among these people there was a boy who had a cat that was cold because of time and hunger. There was life chasing itself.
There was a woman with a feline body. There was emptiness on her bedside table. There was a mirror that had been reflecting the same person by heart for years. There was the desire to go far away, only the suitable means were missing.
There was a silk stole on the door. There was a slightly squeaky bed. There were two naked bodies, piled on top of each other. It was cold but not in that bed and there was a cat under it, dozing off.
There was the winter that was ending. There was a love that was blooming. There was a country that was marching solemnly, ceaselessly, relentlessly. There were bars, newsstands and churches and there was one in particular that rang its bells in March. There was a cat with a bow tie and a young couple in a hurry to love.
There was life repeating itself in every corner of this planet. But for one day in the old country, the proverbial dog did not bite its tail.
There was a miracle. A cat warmed up, full bellies, golden wheat, and two people who one day met by chance and, as if by magic, stopped time.
As they say: Once upon a time, but this time it lasted forever.
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My name is Niccolò, I am 33 years old.
I like art. I like the fact that human beings can give to their own and others’ feelings a completely new and unedited shape.
Pleasant, horripilating, curious, attractive, enchanting, irreverent creations and products of our minds.