Her smile hit me straight in the heart. And it hurt.
I would never have imagined her so happy. She was really happy, in that picture.
I felt envy and yet her smile gave me back serenity. She was cooking, in that picture. And she was smiling.
- Little things can give great happiness. But you never listened to me.
A sharp pain and then my heart began to beat again as before.
- But was it a real smile of happiness? Smiles in pictures are never true, after all. A smile like that can be deceiving. How can a negative, selfish and unhappy woman like her be happy?
Her smile meant distance:
La imagine per solo fama generata è sempre più ampia, quale che essa sia, che non è la cosa imaginata ner vero stato***
Her inherent nature was the nature of a bitch, ready to sell herself to whomever would pay the most. Who lives deeply inside such a nature gains a deep throat and never finds rest.
I'm a humanist. I study humanity. I'm running behind humanity following men like Poggio Bracciolini who ran for monasteries in search of books forgotten to mankind. I discover natures that bind the world to false appearances under the agency of impenetrable demons who only long for hiding.
That smile was not the nature of the woman I had loved. It was the one of a prostitute, who, by virtue of her own demon, lost in her fictitious happiness pretended to be happy.
***The image begotten by fame alone is never more ample, whatsoever it may be, than the imagined thing in its true state
Princas Vilnuje
Fabrizio Ulivieri
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