What could possibly go wrong?

Words and images by @serste

Soon enough, I had to reconsider my first binomial answer, ‘Physiological Impossibility’ , without even noticing it, in the good application of a typical Italian approach: I had Cecilia’s whishes guide me, meekly.

After that last stream-of-unconsciousness she simply erased me.

Just for a few days, enough to hurl me in despair.

The very next morning after her love confession, she didn’t entertained the lustful bus driver to make him wait for a breathless, always-in-late, me.

I finally met her an hour later, at school, where she had dismissed her usual seat, near mine.

There she was, laughing and squeaking like a prepubertal, sketching something incredibly interesting

(‘it is for sure, if only I could see it…‘)

shoulder by shoulder with someone that wasn’t me.

That, I saw, clearly.

Visibly annoyed, she had to stand next to me in Sculpture class, not being possible to easily move her lathe somewhere else.

She did asked the teacher twice to be moved, though, giving clever-wannabe reasons.

She already was my companion, the preferred interlocutor, The Chosen One.

I decided to play her game while sniffing a future catastrophe.