"Oh come on silly, you have wine in your veins". It's true, I have wine in my veins, a lot of wine, very red, very rustic. I sipped it to give myself courage, to give myself composure in that charming restaurant. Aglianico del Taburno: dry and ruby red. Because I need a great deal of courage. But I can feel that it's not just the wine warming me, it's not the wine making me talk. It's him, it's that profile, it's those little boots.
Those charming little black boots of his never stopped tormenting the accelerator for even a second. "We're steady – he told me – we're steady". At 160 but steady. "And a road like this, look at it, it feels like you're on Route 66, it calls to you, it caresses you, it tempts you to race along it". Yes – I answered skeptically, admiring the nature around us, that confident profile and those maddening boots. Then Love Today by Mika came on. It was pure delirium. We tried to imitate it and sing in falsetto, clapping hands, dancing. I do it better, what are you talking about, me. There it was: a shiver of joy running down your spine. It ends with that intense, fulfilling shiver, and then it's the turn of Un giorno migliore by Lunapop. Steel vocal cords challenging each other with love. What do I expect from tomorrow? Well I think it's right to tell you that I want nothing without you. Because when we get in the car and go somewhere out of town, we also leave our heartaches and dark thoughts outside of town. Arriving in a nearby city you didn't know, that seems so welcoming, so charming, and embraces you in a bundle of lights projected on the bell tower. And two angels on the facade of a church. I feel warm even though it's cold. "Oh come on silly, you have wine in your veins". It's true, I have wine in my veins, a lot of wine, very red, very rustic. I sipped it with ostentatious confidence in that charming trattoria, to give myself courage, to give myself composure. Aglianico del Taburno: dry, crisp and a beautiful ruby red. Because a great deal of courage is needed. But I can feel that it's not just the wine warming me, it's not the wine making me talk. It's him, it's that profile, it's those little boots. The street artists are calling to us. A Hanson-style family plays their own songs. The youngest is a little blonde girl of three. The microphone is bigger than she is. Was this the dream they were chasing? Traveling through small towns scattered across Europe singing songs that people don't understand. People who look at them only because the little one melts their hearts, hearts that will warm just as much over Christmas lunch? And he, with perfect timing, quotes a phrase written for me years ago. Dream. But do not make the dream your master. It already is. A demanding, rigorous master, one that sometimes doesn't allow her to smile. But then she forgets it a little, thanks to him, days like these, the good wine so red, so rustic, the beautiful songs. What I had to tell him, I told him. And there was nothing in my veins except that shiver of tenderness and love. I hope he understood. And that photo with that star above your head. You are my angel.
It's not true, I'm not. But I want to hold you and if you want me, tomorrow will be a better day, you'll see.
What do you think?
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