The Ways Of Escapism

Part 1: Elio's Memoires

-Part 1: Elio's Memoires

Play something for us in the piano, 2 part

Back then,
a memory untold, of which i didn't want to disclose.

Yet I'd still remember,

in his fourth week, my countdown,
we used to "exorcise" the fear of the dark together, just on my whim,

i knew that oliver didn't believe in things unless he saw them face to face,

which wouldn't happen today because never on earth,
I'd let myths ruin our blissful stroll.

But I'd lie if i told the surrounding stillness and hissing wind slamming against everything stationary and dead didn't frighten me quite the bit.

at night, we walked along the redole (Italian grassy path) at times meandering through the grassy fields,

we passed through the path paved with flints of the richest part of Crema's town.

of the alleys lined with walls and hedges of oleanders,

of the buildings whose "neigeux" seemed to flare despite the gloomy night,

of the minutiae in carefully chiseled marble,

mullioned windows obscured by flowered curtains in lace and veil;

the dimmed lights, if not turned off,
tediously respectful of the nocturnal headdress.

The bitter medicinal balm of the grass sometimes fresh with dew that velvety the nose,

the pestilential effluvium of the stagnant and mossy water of the well located in the city center,

the pungent, sweet smell of citrus fruits filled the palate for miles then,

as well as the drafts in the bulwarks that brushed my cheeks,

as well as the heat of his hands mixed with sweat and a feeling of welfare and happiness in such a tight clasp.

Every bit of it was a distant memory that often crept into my dreams.

And I'd still feel things, I used to back then, the smell, sensations, thoughts, the trepidation of Oliver, his excitement. Everything.

"It's hot right?"

I nodded, his forehead was itching with sweat.

"It is. Vuoi rincasare e bere della limonata?"

You want to go home and get some limonade?

He shrugged his head, a smile creeping up on his lips, Oliver looked ahead of us.

"No. Let's walk for a little bit more."

"Okay."

"You tired?"

He'd ask me every now and then, yet still wouldn't look at me.

My replies would vary from yesses, to nods, to a dismissive smile,
and even a single glance would answer him different every time.
It wasn't much. Yet he'd still look so content and he probably noticed the same in me too.

"Let's stop."

"Huh?"

"You're tired"

"No, i'm not tired"

"Yes, you are. Then you've got to explain me that big blister on your heel!"