𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦.

𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰'𝘴 𝘗.𝘖.𝘝.

It seemed like I got my wish: my son is out of the hospital, he is safe and healthy, and he is back to living his life. 

But it isn't Alessandro I had 10 months ago.

He is more closed off. He barely utters a word to anyone. He barely steps out of a warehouse and when he does, he goes to a club of his, where he drinks and smokes. He is coldhearted, harsh in ways he has never been before. 

My son was different 10 months ago, a good type of different, and I am so fucking sorry I see it only now.  

"Figliolo, dobbiamo parlare adesso."- I said calmly, finding him in his penthouse, vigorously working out at night, per usual. (Son, we need to talk now.) 

"No, non è così."- my son denied, hitting the punching bag with strength that I would encourage before, but not now. (No, we don't.) 

"Sì, lo sappiamo, Alessandro. Metti giù i guantoni da boxe e siediti."- I stated collectedly, needing to fix my mistakes and set him on the right path, as I should have done all those months ago. (Yes, we do, Alessandro. Put down the boxing gloves and sit down.)

"Cosa c'è da dire? Tu non mi capisci, proprio come tutti gli altri. Non hai la minima idea di come ci si senta a vivere con un fottuto vuoto di memoria, eppure continui a inciampare nei ricordi di qualcuno che non riesci a ricordare, non importa quanto tu ci provi!"- he snapped, his anger and frustration lethal and menacing. (What is there to talk about!? You don't understand me, just like everyone else. You have no damn clue how it feels like to live with a fucking gap in your memory, yet keep stumbling upon reminders of someone you cannot remember no matter how much you try!)

 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰'𝘴 𝘗.𝘖.𝘝.

What the fuck does he want?!

I have nothing to say.

Padre, Massimo, Ali, Renata and every-fucking-body else have no idea how I feel and they will never understand it. 

How it feels like to live with a missing piece of my world. 

How it feels like to look after a dog I do not remember getting, yet cannot leave because something keeps me attached to him. 

How it is like to spend hours daily on remembering someone, yet in vain because everything is so hazy, blurry and distant. 

How it is like to be unable to as much as look on any other woman because something keeps me away from them, as if trying to say that I had someone better, yet I do not know who was it, who keeps me so fucking wrecked and devoted. 

How it is like to have tattoos that I cannot fucking get rid of because of the instant feeling of longing and heavy sadness that kick in when I as much as consider removing them.

And this is just the tip of the fucking iceberg. There are so many things I cannot remember and I fucking hate it.

"Devi andare a Londra, figliolo."- said papà, seriously meaning this shit. (You have to go to London, son.) 

"Ho cose più importanti da fare che volare a Londra."- I dismissed coldly, taking my gloves off. (I have more important things to do than fly to London.) 

"Andare in missione, affrontare una malsana quantità di lavoro, fumare e bere alcolici non sono cose important."- stated padre in disapproval, watching my every move attentively, as if looking for something. (Going on missions, dealing with an unhealthy amount of work, smoking, and drinking alcohol aren't important things.)