#la-vita-di-classe

[deathshallbenomore]

vecchio amico mi manda audio lunghissimi e noiosissimi e forse pensa di fregarmi ma io, detentrice di un dottorato nella nobile arte della comunicazione passiva aggressiva conseguito presso il dipartimento di scienze sociali dell’università della vita, aspetto a rispondergli solo per raccogliere tutti gli aneddoti più noiosi e sconclusionati della settimana, al fine di narrarli in un audio ancora più lungo è ancora più noioso. specchio riflesso, ha! addirittura

#allora con tutto il bene che gli posso volere #la narrazione del consiglio di classe dell’istituto comprensivo tizio caio e Sempronio dove non è successo NIENTE #[ci fossa una storia da raccontare sarei felicissima poiché amo il comico e il grottesco del quotidiano] #ecco magari no. la vita è troppo breve per ascoltare il flusso di coscienza di uno che sta facendo colazione e non ha ancora preso #abbastanza ossigeno per poter cominciare la giornata

[givemeanorigami]

Il vero mistero della vita è come sconosciuti, conoscenti e persone con cui ho perso i rapporti da tempo sentano lo stimolo ad aprirsi e raccontarsi con onestà con me. Ogni tanto vorrei davvero essere nella testa degli altri per capire come mi vedano per sentirsi così sicuri con me da poter mostrare anche il lato fragile.

#anni di anzianə sconosciutə che mi raccontano la loro vita alle fermate #o ex compagnə di classe che mi raccontano i loro anni bui quando io volevo solo l'immagine usata come sfondo nelle loro stories #givemeanorigami

[hpimagines]

Slytherin boys- Confession letters

( No Blaise in this one, I’m sorry to my Blaise girlies</33 )

Mattheo Riddle-

You opened your book bag to find a extremely folded up piece of notebook paper with a bunch of random rose doodles around it and opened it suspiciously

I don’t know what i’m doing right now, this is honestly so stupid. Anytime I’m near you it’s like I get a rush of shit i’m not used to and if I told you this in person I think id shit myself so take this and my awful wording. Y/n I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what love was, that rush of emotions I brought up before I understand what it is now, I’ve loved you, and I’ll continue to love you if you’ll let me, please Y/n, let me love and protect you forever. - your favorite dada partner ;)

Theodore Nott-

You were sitting in the Library when Theo walked passed and left an envelope in front of you, before you could question anything he hurried off seemingly in a rush, your name was on the letter so you opened it slowly

Y/n, If you’re reading this that means I wasn’t a little bitch and actually gave it to you, so congratulations. I’m going to make you work for this so get your translation book out, Hai cambiato la mia vita y/n, onestamente non so cosa farei senza di te a questo punto, tutto quello che so è che ti amo e voglio che tu sia mio, tutto mio, vero? (You’ve changed my life Y/n , I honestly don't know what I would do without you at this point, all I know is that I love you and I want you to be mine, all mine, will you?)

Draco Malfoy-

You were sitting in class when Draco sent over one of his flying bird notes, you were surprised it was for you, and were even more surprised when you saw them contents

Dear Y/n,

I don’t mean to seem so formal, but I honestly have no idea how to do this. Anytime we’re in the same room you’re all I can look at, everyone else disappears. You’re so gorgeous. You practically live in my head at this point, I understand we’re not the closest Y/n, but we can be. All I’m asking for is once chance with you, I promise you won’t regret it. - D.Mꨄ

Lorenzo Berkshire-

You were sitting at the black lake while Enzo was messing around near the water, while he wasn’t paying attention you noticed he had a letter with your name on it in his bag, so you decided to open it

I doubt I’ll ever actually give this to you, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the rejection of the most amazing, beautiful, and talented girl I know. I can’t get you out of my head love, merlin, love. I love you. There I said it. I Lorenzo Berkshire am in love with you. I’m definitely never giving this to you I sound insane. Fuck Y/n, you seriously have no idea what you do to me.

Tom Riddle-

While studying with tom he slipped you a note before getting up and leaving with no added words

I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that I can’t hate you, and I hate that you make me feel things. Be mine Y/n, I could make your life so much better, I’ll give you the entire world all you’d have to do is say please. Be mine and you could have everything you desire and more.

Im so sorry I have no idea what to write for Blaise right now loves, but hopefully you enjoyed this, I will make a part two of the post I made about Theo a couple days ago don’t worry <33 Alsooo I just want to let yall know that all the italian is google translated so Im sorry if the translations are wrong, but what I put is what they should say :)

#fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #slytherin boys #smut #harry potter reader insert #harrypotterboys #draco malfoy #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #mattheo riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin #mattheoxreader #love confessions

[solosepensi]

"Ti vuoi mettere con me?"

Era un biglietto piccolo e ripiegato almeno tre volte su se stesso. Lo avevo dato direttamente in mano a "Lucia" un attimo prima che suonasse la campanella di entrata. Intorno alle 8.15. Eravamo in quarta elementare. Grembiule blu io e rosa lei. Con i piccoli bottoni in madreperla e il colletto bianco. Profumo di bucato. Io frangetta, lei occhi grandi. Ricordo quel giorno come se fosse oggi. Nello zaino l’astuccio, il diario, i libri e i pennarelli. E la pizzetta rossa. E i sogni. Dopo pochi minuti, lei mi fa recapitare, tramite passamano dei compagni di classe, banco dopo banco, mano dopo mano, lo stesso foglietto con sotto la risposta, intanto la maestra spiegava geografia, i mari che bagnano l’Italia. I fiumi e confini. C’era una crocetta sul sì: significava che eravamo ufficialmente fidanzati. E sentii la prima fitta allo stomaco della mia vita.

Da bambini sappiamo quello che vogliamo perché sappiamo ascoltare il nostro cuore, e abbiamo il coraggio di manifestarlo senza tanti filtri o giri di parole. Da grandi, invece, non sappiamo più quello che vogliamo, e quando lo sappiamo c’incasiniamo la vita senza motivo. Basterebbe essere semplici, basterebbe dire “ti penso”, “mi manchi”, “ti amo”.

(Roberto Emanuelli)

[aflame4goinghome]

Illicit Affairs

d.r.w x reader

chapter ii

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!! swearing, flirting, power dynamic; SMUT: fingering, touching, sexually implicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected sex, slight choking, sir kink, spanking, a little bit of degradation, praise kink, hint of dom/sub dynamic

A/N: This story is in collaboration with my wonderful, talented friends @gretavanstink & @childinthegardenn!! Go give them a follow and give @gretavanstink’s fics some love! Thanks for sticking with us! We’re so glad you like the story so far :) Enjoy!

Listen to the official playlist on Spotify here!

chapter i

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

As you stand in the hall waiting for the elevator to open, you pull your phone out and see another text from Rose.

From: Rose🌹

HELLOOOOO? Are you alive?

The doors slide open and you step inside, pressing the button for the third floor and leaning back against the wall as you type a response to her.

To: Rose🌹

He made me stay back after everyone else left. CHECKED THE CLASSLIST LIKE HE DIDN’T KNOW MY NAME and told me to “hang back for a sec”

You press send and shove your phone back in your pocket as the elevator doors slide open. Stepping out, you turn your head to look down both sides of the hall and see a sign that points toward offices 311 to 321. You follow the sign, stopping in front of his closed door, and glance around for somewhere to sit. There’s an uncomfortable-looking bench tucked into an alcove across from his office and nothing else. Better than the floor, you think as you take a seat, plopping your bag down next to you. Your phone buzzes with another text from Rose as you notice the faux stained glass privacy shade Daniel has on his office window.

From: Rose🌹

Oh, he’s evil. What are you gonna do?

To: Rose🌹

I DON’T KNOW. He told me we should talk privately so now I’m just sitting here outside of his office waiting for him to get back from a meeting with another prof

From: Rose🌹

You’re insane, I love you. Keep me updated, I’m heading into another class🩷

To: Rose🌹

Love you too, I will🩵

You slip your phone into your back pocket and cross your legs, unsure of how long he is going to keep you waiting. Ten minutes pass with no sign of him and you let out a sigh, rifling through your bag and pulling out Dante's La Vita Nuova. You flip to your current page and set your bookmark on your leg, letting your back rest against the wall as you skim the page.

After about twenty minutes, you hear the clack of dress shoes on tile from around the corner and your stomach flips, recognizing the sound from class as Daniel paced around the room. You fix your posture and pretend to continue reading even though your brain is too scattered to absorb anything. 

Daniel rounds the corner and sees you waiting, a smug grin forming on his lips as he approaches you. Stopping in front of you, he plucks your book from your hands and glances at it before looking down at you and winking. He leans down and lifts your bookmark off your thigh, slipping it between the pages and placing the book back in your hands. Your eyes follow his every move, focusing on his hands, as he unlocks his office and steps inside, leaving the door open. You slip your book back into your bag and stand, slinging it over your shoulder as you step into the doorway.

 As you look in, you notice a black leather loveseat tucked between two bookshelves against the wall. The bookshelves are filled with different eras; the Italian Renaissance, the liberation of France, and the Industrial Revolution. Your eyes fall on a copy of Voltaire’s Alzire and a smile forms on your lips. The top shelf boasts a scale model of the Duomo di Siena and a photo of himself in his early twenties during what you assume was a study abroad program. Daniel clears his throat, snapping you back to reality, and you turn his way. 

“Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there?” He asks, leaning forward on his desk. His eyes travel down your body before flicking back up to meet your gaze. “Because I’m fine either way.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you step inside, pushing the door closed behind you. You lower yourself into the seat across from his desk and set your bag at your feet. You’re unsure what to say so you sit silently, returning his stare as he looks right through you.

“Well this is certainly a different view than I had the other night,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. You fight the urge to look at the floor, keeping your eyes trained on him as he stands and moves around his desk to your side. He leans against it and folds his arms across his chest, watching your face for a reaction. 

“Daniel…” You say, your voice barely a whisper. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “We have to stop, right?”

Daniel shrugs his shoulders and lowers his arms, bracing himself on the edge of the desk and crossing his ankles. Your eyes leave his face and focus on how his fingers wrap around the edge of the wood, the way his forearms flex and his veins bulge.

“If that’s what you want,” he says, his tone bordering on indifference. A smirk forms on his lips as he notices you staring at his arms again and he pushes off the desk. He walks around your seat and places his hands on the back, leaning down to speak in your ear. “I don’t think that’s what you want though, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel him brush your hair to one shoulder, his lips ghosting over your neck as he says, “No. I think you like this.”

You push yourself out of your seat and walk to the window that overlooks the quad, the closeness making your head spin. After taking a moment to collect yourself, you turn back to face him again, leaning back against the windowsill. 

“I think you like it,” you say, bringing your eyes up to meet his as he crosses his arms, watching you.

“You’re right,” Daniel says, closing the distance between you. He places his hands on the windowsill, trapping you between his arms, and looks down at you. “But you didn’t deny liking it.”

He captures your lips with his, one hand moving to the small of your back to pull your body against his. You relent, returning the kiss, as if you were putty in his hands. You didn’t deny it because you couldn’t. Something about him made you feel like a live wire, dangerous. You feel his tongue run across your lips and you part them, letting him in. He breaks the kiss and places more along your jaw, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt and resting on your waist. 

“It’s wrong isn’t it?” You ask breathlessly as he continues down your neck. He lifts his head and looks into your eyes but doesn’t let go of you. You can feel your arousal soaking through your panties as he holds you tight to him.

“Says who?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “We’re both adults.”

Daniel lets his hand wander down the outside of your thigh and then between your legs, pausing there and smirking. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want this,” he says quietly, his hand drifting up to the button of your jeans.

“I do, but,” you sigh and place a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly. “I’m your student.”

Daniel takes his hand off of you and backs up, giving you space to breathe. You return to the seat across from his desk and cross your legs, looking at your hands and picking at your thumb absentmindedly as you think. He takes your place, leaning against the windowsill, and waits patiently for you to continue.

“Like, morally, this is wrong,” you say finally, turning your gaze towards him. “And if we get caught it’ll be a world of trouble for both of us.”

“Guess we can’t get caught then,” he says, sitting back down. He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly, nodding. You stand and slip on your backpack and Daniel stands as well, walking you to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks down at you, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Don’t think too hard,” he says, twisting the knob and opening the door.

“I’ll let you know by the end of the week,” you say, smiling softly and stepping into the hallway.

You make your way back to the elevator and press the down button, standing back and waiting for the doors to open. When they slide apart, you step inside, press the button for the ground floor, and lean back against the wall, letting it hold your weight up as you take a few deep breaths. The doors open and you walk through the lobby and out into the afternoon sun.

You pop your earbuds in and start your walk home, your music picking up where it had stopped earlier. Fitting, you think, blowing a short laugh through your nose, as Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash flows into your ears. You hum along to the song, your mind replaying what just happened as you wander off campus. 

You buzz yourself into your building and jog a little to catch the elevator that another resident held open for you. When you get into your apartment, you toss your bag into the chair at your desk and flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. You fold your hands on your stomach and close your eyes, realizing how exhausted you are as you start to drift off.

Your eyes open at the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by Rose’s bedroom door closing, and you check the time on your phone, 4:57 pm. You let out a deep sigh and sit up, knowing you should at least try to read the syllabi for your classes tomorrow. 

You walk to your desk and pull the chair out, moving your bag to the floor next to you as you sit down and slide your laptop out of its case. As you type your password in, Rose knocks on your open door and leans on the doorframe, peeking in at you.

“So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What happened?”

Reading can wait, you think as you turn your chair to face her, pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing heavily. 

“He kissed me in his office,” you say, feeling your stomach flip as you say it. “Against the window that looks over the quad.”

Rose’s eyes widen and she steps into your room, sitting on your bed cross-legged. She rests her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands as she waits for you to continue.

“And all I could think was that I wanted him to keep going,” you add, standing and joining her on your bed. You rest your back on the wall and let your head fall back. “What am I gonna do?”

“What do you want to do?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I want to crawl in a hole and come out when the semester is over,” you say, laughing and shaking your head.

“Well that’s not really an option, babe,” she says. You shoot her a look and roll your eyes, drawing a giggle out of her.

“What if I drop the class?” you ask, rubbing your temples. “Then I wouldn’t have to see him. I could just forget the whole thing.”

“Could you really just forget it all though?” Rose challenges, tilting her head to the side. “I mean…he’s really hot, Y/N.”

“I know, Rose,” you say. “I want him. But I’m his student.”

“Who cares,” she says, lengthening the second word. “It’s not like you have to fall in love. Just have good, hot sex.”

You burst into a fit of laughter at the idea, pushing Rose’s shoulder, and fall to lay on your side.

“Alright,” you relent. “Maybe you have a point.”

“What’s the harm?” She adds, shrugging her shoulders. You roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling, resting your hands on your stomach. Focusing on the rise and fall of your stomach with your breath, you let your eyes fall closed and think quietly for a few moments.

“Just good, hot sex,” you repeat, opening your eyes and turning your head to look up at your best friend. “I told him I’d let him know by Friday.”

“See, you have time to think about it,” she says, patting your leg reassuringly. “Was he really that good?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and smirk, feeling your cheeks turn pink as you replay the night in the bar in your head.

“Best I’ve ever had,” you say, tossing your head back. “Like…unforgettable.”

“I could just forget the whole thing,” Rose teases, doing her best impression of you. You snap your head back up and slap her arm.

“Shut up,” you giggle. “Get out. I have some things to think about.”

“Oh you mean Dr. Wagner,” she says as she stands, running out of your reach before you smack her again. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She winks and walks out of your room, closing your door behind her and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sigh and sit up, your mind reeling at the way this semester was off to a start you couldn’t have imagined in your wildest dreams. Hopping off your bed, you grab your laptop and crawl under your covers. You give a quick skim over your syllabus for the rest of your classes, trying your hardest to focus as you add some important dates to your planner.

After an hour, your focus is shot and you decide to grab a quick shower, as you always do your best thinking in the warm steam. You strip out of your clothes for the day, deposit them in your laundry basket, and stand looking at yourself in your full-length mirror. Your hand finds the fading purple mark at your collarbone and your cheeks flush as you imagine Daniel’s lips on your skin. You turn your back to the mirror and look over your shoulder, seeing the bruises on your thighs and thinking of the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh. 

You let out a shaky breath and slip your robe on before making your way to the bathroom. Shrugging the robe off, you start the shower to let it warm up before you step in. You sigh as the hot water hits your muscles, the tension leaving your body and flowing down the drain with the water. Your mind wanders back to Daniel’s office as you wash your hair and a chill runs down your spine, bringing goosebumps to your arms and legs.

I think you like this, you hear him say in your mind. Tell me you don’t want this.

You rinse out your hair and lean against the wall, your hand reaching down to massage your clit. A sigh falls from your lips as you set a quick pace of circles with your fingers. You imagine Daniel’s fingers working you, his strong hands bringing you closer and closer to release. The hot water beats at your skin as you let your head fall back against the tiles, moaning softly as you feel the familiar tingle in your abdomen. 

Come on, sweetheart, give it to me, his voice echoes in your mind, sending you tumbling over the edge as your thighs quiver. You squeeze your eyes closed, his name tumbling from your lips as you ride out your orgasm. Once you’ve collected yourself, you finish your shower and slip your robe back on, wandering back to your room and slipping into your pajamas. 

You crawl into bed and close your eyes, making a pros and cons list in your head as you try to find sleep. Pros: hot guy, hot sex. Cons: getting caught, trying to focus in class, morality.

You scoff at the last one. Can you really say you have morality about this when the only thing you wanted in his office was for him to keep going, right there against the window? 

What’s the harm, you hear Rose say. Maybe she’s right, what harm could a little fun do?

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

You wake up to your alarm early Friday morning and immediately feel a tight knot in the pit of your stomach. You have to face Daniel again today and finally tell him your answer. You feel slightly giddy over the prospect of getting him alone again, though you do hope that he isn’t going to treat you any differently in class now. You’ll find out soon enough.

The first half of your morning goes by in the blink of an eye. Next thing you know, you’re on your way to the other side of campus for his class. Despite the nervous energy, you still managed to get your assigned reading done. You’re nothing if not committed to academic success, regardless of the situation with Daniel. 

Surprisingly, you rather enjoyed the assignment. Since you were taking the course as a core requirement and not as part of your major, you’d never studied art history before. The level of analysis behind different works of art and how they reflect the social and political climate at the time was fascinating to you. You were surprised by how it ended up connecting well with what you’ve learned in your philosophy classes before about politics, so the subject ended up coming rather easily to you.

You walk into the building and open the door to the lecture hall, thankfully not running late this time around. You have about five minutes to spare before the class begins, giving you a better choice of where to sit. You stand there at the top of the stairs for a moment, looking around for a good place to sit, not wanting to be too close or too far from the front. Finally, you decide to take a seat in the middle somewhere, hoping you might possibly be able to blend in with the rest of the crowd. 

As you bend over in your seat and take your notebook out of your bag, you start to hear the familiar sound of Daniel’s shoes descending the stairs. Here we go, you think, trying to prepare for the awkward class that’s ahead of you. You place your notebook on the small pull-out desk attached to your chair, then decide to suck it up and look up toward the front of the classroom.

You watch as he sits down at the desk and pulls his laptop out of his leather bag. He doesn’t look up once, focusing on connecting his computer to the projector screen and pulling up his presentation for the lecture. After the presentation pops up on the screen, he pushes his chair back and stands up, finally catching your gaze.

One corner of his mouth turns upward into a half-smirk as his eyes meet yours. He goes to push the rolled sleeves of his black button-down up a bit further on his arms, causing your eyes to drift downward. His biceps peak out of the bottom of his sleeve and you can see the muscles flex slightly as he adjusts the sleeves. You bite your lip almost out of instinct, leaning your arm on the desk and resting your chin on your hand. 

Figuring out that you’ve definitely been staring for too long, you look back up to see a full-on smirk across his face. When your eyes lock again, he shoots over a subtle wink before clearing his throat and getting on with the start of class. There’s a lot of chatter going on throughout the room, making it difficult for him to get their attention at first.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” he says, projecting his voice loud enough to quiet down the room. “Let’s jump right into this first chapter, shall we?”

Daniel uses the remote in his hand to transition to the next slide of the presentation, which shows the first painting from the reading. He starts pacing around the room, walking over to stand on the first step of the stairs as he asks the class for their initial thoughts.

You take the opportunity to look at him closer, thanks to this new proximity. He paired his black shirt with dark gray slacks and his usual black shoes. Your eyes fall on the gold chain around his neck, wondering how much it might have cost, considering how high-quality it looks. He really knew how to put an outfit together, looking expensive yet casual all at the same time– yet another thing that made him annoyingly attractive. You’re still lost in thought when you suddenly hear your name being called, snapping you back into reality.

“Y/N? Are you still with us?” Daniel asks, standing with his arms crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you. You sit up straight in your sight, clearing your throat before answering.

“Oh, um, yes. I’m sorry,” you say, which comes across as almost a mumble.

“I was asking you about what you thought about Liberty Leading The People,” he says, leaning back against the side of the chair on the aisle across from you. “From last night’s reading, assuming that you’ve completed it.” His voice is very matter-of-fact, almost as though he’s catching you in a lie. You won’t give him the satisfaction of embarrassing you in front of the class, that’s for sure. 

“I did do the reading, professor,” you answer, your tone having a bit of a bite to it unintentionally as a result of your frustration. “And I thought that the painting was a perfect representation of the heart of the French Revolution. They united as one and fought together to take down their oppressive government.” The smug look on his face immediately disappears as you continue sharing your analysis with the class.

“Liberté, égalité, fraternité, or liberty, equality, fraternity– the phrase that would end up defining the entire future of the French Republic. It represents the foundation of democracy in France and how it united the entire country, despite their differences. The painting symbolizes these founding ideas of democracy and freedom, which we know is still a prevalent theme in France today.”

You finish speaking, looking up at him as you cross your arms over yourself in your seat, waiting for his response. He wanted to catch you unprepared, which he has failed to do. A small smirk starts to appear on his face as he turns around and walks back toward the front of the classroom, pressing the button on the remote to switch to the next slide.

“Very good analysis, Miss Y/L/N. Outstanding, actually,” he says after turning around to face the class. If he’s feeling embarrassed, then he certainly isn’t showing it, but you’re glad to have been able to put him in his place. He uses the small laser pointer on the remote to point to the short bulleted list on the slide as he starts his lecture on the painting.

You hate how much this act of academic praise satisfied you, especially coming from him. You think to yourself that you’d do anything to have it happen again— to be the one that he compliments in front of the entire class. Despite whatever your relationship with Daniel may be, the desire for your knowledge and thoughts to be appreciated and acknowledged by him was intense. You wanted to please him, in more ways than one.

The rest of the class goes smoothly, thankfully. He manages to leave you alone, choosing to call on different students as you discuss other Romanticism paintings from the reading assignment. His eyes drifted to you every once in a while, but you could tell he was pulling his gaze away almost immediately. You knew that he was trying to give you space, which you appreciated. Finally, he dismisses the class and everyone starts to pack up and leave the hall. You’re putting your things back in your bag as you hear him say your name.

“Y/N,” he says, looking up at you from behind his laptop while sitting at his desk. “Good job today.” 

You smile at him, picking up your bag and putting it on your back. “Thanks,” you say, approaching his desk at the front of the classroom. Most of the students have dispersed by now, besides a few stragglers. “Do you have time to talk, professor?” you continue, biting your lip afterward as you await his answer. You tried to sound as sweet as possible, knowing that it was unlikely for him to say no. 

He smirks, closing his laptop and slipping it into his bag. “Sure, Y/N,” he says, standing up and putting his bag on his shoulder. “Let’s go up to my office, yeah?” He then walks around the desk and begins up the stairs, with you following shortly after him.

As you walk behind him toward the elevator down the hall, you can’t help but notice how much confidence seems to pour out of him as he walks. It was like he owned the place, walking around as though it was second nature to him. You hate to admit how attractive it was, but it was undeniable.

He presses the “up” button for the elevator and you both stand there silently for a moment as you wait for it to arrive. Standing on his left with still a couple of feet between you, you turn your head to look at him. As his head turns to return your gaze, the elevator dings and the doors open.

He walks in first, pressing the button for the third floor and then stepping back as you both watch the doors close in front of you. When the elevator begins to rise, you’re taken aback by his lips crashing onto yours. His hands are planted firmly on your hips as he turns you slightly, putting your back against the wall of the elevator. Your hands begin to tangle in his hair as you feel his tongue collide with yours, making you whine quietly into his mouth. 

His lips turn upward into a smirk against yours at the sound of your pathetic noises, but you’re quickly taken out of it as you hear the elevator ding and immediately stop on the second floor. Shit. 

You scramble to get untangled from him, stepping a few feet away to the other side of the elevator. The doors begin to open and a professor steps in, seemingly going up to the third floor as well. The professor stands between the two of you as the doors begin to shut.

“Ah, Dr. Wagner!” he says, turning toward Daniel on his left. “Good seeing you! How’re your courses faring so far?” Daniel is calm and composed as he turns to his colleague with a grin and answers him. 

“Professor Thomson, it’s great to see you. It’s all going well, but it’s still early,” he jokes, making the professor let out a fit of loud laughter. You, on the other hand, are a total mess. The back of your hair has a slight bump from it being slammed against the wall and your cheeks have turned a deep shade of pink. You just try to avoid the interaction altogether and stare straight ahead until the elevator dings once more and the doors open to the third floor. 

The professor steps out first, bidding Daniel a farewell before turning off to the left corridor. Daniel walks out next, turning right and heading toward his office. You can’t help but feel a bit of deja vu as you follow him to his office. This time, however, you were feeling much more confident. You want to show him that you weren’t just a timid, innocent student like he might think you are.

He holds the door open for you and allows you to walk in past him before shutting the door behind you and locking it. You turn on your heels to face him and see his eyes boring through you– you suppose your moment in the elevator affected him more than he let on. Daniel takes a step toward you, leaving only less than a foot of space between you as his eyes study you. The feeling of him looking at you like that almost takes over you and before you even know you’re doing it, you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close to you, connecting your lips with his.

He groans into your mouth as your hands find their place within his curls and you push his back against the office door. His arms wrap around your waist and his hips connect with yours, bringing his hard, long cock to your immediate attention. Your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, finally planting on his hips as you slowly lower yourself onto your knees– a position that both you and him were already familiar with.

You look at him through your eyelashes as your hands start to fiddle with his belt, pulling the end through the loop and unclasping it. “Fuck, I could get used to this,” he mutters, reaching a hand down to push some of your hair out of your face. You continue, pulling down his zipper and unbuttoning the top button of his slacks. He helps you the rest of the way, pulling down his pants and briefs just enough for you to be able to pull his cock out of its confines and take it in your hand.

You pump your hand on it a few times before lowering your mouth onto him, licking a small stripe on his tip. He groans, throwing his head back onto the door and using his hand to hold your hair back out of your face. Thoroughly enjoying the effect you seemed to have on him, you decide to take him completely into your mouth until your nose connects with the smooth material of his shirt resting on his stomach, taking him completely by surprise. 

“Oh my– fuck!” Daniel mumbles, struggling to even get any words out. His hips thrust into your mouth roughly at the sensation of filling your mouth completely, hitting the back of your throat. You begin to move, taking the lead as you retract your mouth slowly and then push him back down your throat. 

The sounds coming out of his mouth as you set a steady pace is enough to get you close to release just by hearing it. You swirl your tongue around his tip and then take him completely into the back of your throat again, gagging around him slightly. As you start to pick up your pace, his hands are pulling your hair back, yanking you off of him. He tucks himself back into his boxer briefs quickly, then brings you up on your feet and his hands cup your cheeks, keeping your attention on him.

“If you keep doing all that, this is gonna end before we even get started, baby…” he says sternly, starting to place hot, wet kisses along your jawline and then down the side of your neck as he pushes you back further into the room. The backs of your legs hit his desk and your hands grip the edge, bracing yourself. “We can’t have that, can we?” 

Daniel continues his attack on your neck, beginning to suck on a sweet spot on your bare collarbone. The feelings are taking over all of your senses, overwhelming you so much that all you can muster up is an enthusiastic nod. He pulls his lips off of you, straightening his back as he towers over you, placing his hand on the back of your neck firmly.

“Words, sweetheart,” he says, scolding you. “You’re a big girl. Act like one.” Your eyes widen at his words, though you have to admit that it has you completely dripping wet.

“No, sir. We can’t,” you answer. His lips turn upward into a slight smirk as his hand moves from behind your neck toward the front. His thumb strokes your neck softly before his hand tightens a bit. “Good girl.”

His lips connect with yours once more and you moan into his mouth as his hand tightens a bit more around your throat. His other hand moves up your side to cup your breast, snug inside your tight ribbed tank top. He makes quick work of that, reaching into your shirt and squeezing your breast, then rolling your nipple in his fingers. You whine at the sensation, making him smirk against your lips. 

“Yeah, you like that?” he asks, pulling his face back a bit, rubbing his nose against yours as his fingers pinch your nipple again, eliciting another moan from you. “Yes, sir, feels so so good,” you whine, as he places a few soft kisses along your jaw.

Suddenly, he spins you around and pulls you against him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he presses his lips against the shell of your ear. “I’ve thought about doing this again ever since you walked out of that bathroom,” he mumbles, kissing your neck roughly. His hips buck into your ass as you brace your palms against the wooden desk to keep your legs from crumbling beneath you. “Fuck, so have I,” you utter, leaning your head back against his shoulder. 

One of his hands moves from your waist and pushes your back down so that you’re bent over the front of his desk. He lowers his mouth to your ear briefly and whispers, “I’m not gonna be gentle… okay, sweetheart?” You let out a soft moan as his hips press into your ass and you feel his hot breath against your ear. “I don’t want you to be gentle,” you say. He smiles as he places a soft kiss on the shell of your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You whine at the sudden loss of his body against yours as he backs away from you. But that feeling soon changes as you feel his hands back on your waist and his fingers dip into the waistline of your leggings. He bends down and pulls them down over your ass, letting them sit at your ankles. You hear him groan and curse to himself when he sees that you decided to forgo any underwear, since you typically liked to avoid unflattering underwear lines when wearing tight pants like leggings. 

His large hands grip your ass firmly, pulling your cheeks apart as he takes in the view. He starts gliding his fingers through your wetness with one hand as the other comes down and smacks your ass, hard. You bite your lip to stifle the loud moan that almost escapes your mouth, being mindful of the need to keep the noise down considering the location. He places a kiss on the spot on your asscheek, soothing the stinging sensation. 

He stands up and pulls his briefs back down, taking his cock in his hands and pumping it a few times before towering behind you once again. He brings his mouth back down to your ear as his hips buck into yours and you can feel his painfully hard cock against your ass behind you. “You asked for it.”

Daniel lines himself up with you and pushes himself into you fully. You can feel yourself stretch around him, the sting of it feeling almost welcoming. He grips your waist in one hand as the other holds firm against the small of your back, keeping you still on the desk as he sets a relentless pace inside of you. 

The movement of his hips is quick and harsh, the only sound in the room being the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, loud and wet. He’s hitting your cervix repeatedly, and you start to have no control over the noises you make. His hips slam hard into you, causing you to curse loudly. His hand moves from the small of your back to the back of your neck and pushes your head down, making you have to turn it sideways with your cheek flush against the wood. His hand then slides over to cover your mouth, pushing two of his fingers past your lips.

“As much as I love those sweet sounds, you gotta keep it down, baby…” he says as he slams his hips into you again. You groan around his fingers and catch his eye from behind you, seeing a smug smirk across his face. You suck on his fingers as he continues his quick pace inside you and your walls flutter against him, eliciting a moan from him as well. “Goddamn, you are so fucking tight,” he groans, removing his hand from your mouth and moving it to grip your hair tightly, pulling you up from the desk as he slides out of you. 

He turns you around and captures your lips for a moment before pulling away. You watch as he quickly rids himself of his pants and boxers entirely, dropping them on the floor and then stepping out of them. He lowers himself to remove your pants from around your ankles then attaches his lips to yours again. His hands grasp your ass and lift you up, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you over to the far left wall of the office, directly in front of the window. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck as his lips stay attached to yours and he places your back against the wall.

You have half a mind to get self-conscious about the proximity to the window but you’re too intoxicated by his touch to care. With your back now flush with the wall, he lifts you up for a moment then pushes himself back inside of you and picks back up on his relentless pace. 

His hands grip your ass so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark come tomorrow. You’re genuinely surprised by the strength he must have to be able to hold you up as he fucks into you, which makes your head spin. His lips leave yours and work their way down your neck. When they reach your chest, he halts his hips to bring one of his hands up to pull your breasts from your shirt and bra, allowing them to spill out of the top of your tank top and giving him full access.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me…” he mutters, holding onto you tightly as he starts pounding into you again even harsher. His lips wrap around one of your nipples, sucking and biting on your skin and completely taking you over the edge. You can feel yourself getting close as his hips slam up into you, his tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again from this new angle. He can feel you tightening around him, making him groan against your skin. 

“Come on, baby. Make a mess all over my cock, I’m right there,” he urges, attaching his lips to yours again as one of his hands moves from your ass and slips between you, starting to rub quick, rough circles against your clit. It sends you over the edge and Daniel swallows your moan in his mouth as his tongue collides with yours. 

He fucks you through it, his pace never slowing as he reaches his own climax shortly after you. He moans against your tongue as you feel his release coat your walls. His hips start to slow, fucking his release into you before lowering your legs to the ground and pulling out, allowing you to stand. Your knees buckle as you get your bearings, but you quickly recover and wrap your arms around his waist pulling him in for a short, soft kiss.

“I guess I got my answer then, huh?” he jests, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he looks down at you with a smug smile. “You’re such an idiot,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder softly, walking past him to pick up your leggings, then sliding them back on. He follows, pulling his briefs up over his hips and then picking his pants up off the floor. As he pulls his pants on and starts to fasten his belt, you decide to speak first.

“I want to do this with you. I do. But we have to set some ground rules,” you say, leaning against his desk and looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you as he tucks his shirt back into his pants and then walks toward you.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asks, cupping your cheek with his hand and rubbing his thumb softly against your skin. You almost melt into his touch, but you want to stand your ground before you get too soft on him.

“Well,” you start, “First of all, this should be no strings attached– purely physical. I’m not gonna be your girlfriend.” He chuckles to himself before crossing his arms and leaning against the chair next to him. “Who said I wanted you to be my girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. He laughs again, then answers, “Okay, okay. No strings attached. Shouldn’t be a problem. What else?”

“No telling anyone, besides people who already know. My best friend knew about you immediately after we left the bar last weekend, so it’s too late now,” you continue. He hums and nods his head. “Mine too. Can’t hide shit from Sam even if I tried.”

“Okay, so we keep it a secret. No one else has to know,” you assert. He stands up and puts his arms on either side of you, leaning onto the desk behind you. 

“Okay. One more thing,” he says, towering over you. “No falling in love.” You take a deep breath just at the thought of it– falling in love. Yeah, right. As you look up to meet his gaze, you smile softly and nod. “No falling in love.” 

After a few more minutes of sharing kisses and continuously attempting to say goodbye, you finally peel yourself away from Daniel and leave his office, heading out of the building and walking in the direction of home. You can’t help how flustered you feel after leaving him, almost not even believing that it even happened. You exchanged numbers before you left, promising to see each other again soon.

You’re feeling anxiously excited to fill Rose in on today’s events when you get home. There were a lot of details that you fear you may need to leave out, things that were too vulgar to even speak out loud. This idea makes your cheeks flush as you think about it on the walk home. You know that you’re way in over your head but hopefully, with the boundaries you’ve set, you won’t get caught up in it all too intensely. As long as you both follow the rules, no one will get hurt… Right?

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

chapter iii

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[falcemartello]

All'attenzione del sig. Santa Claus.

Con la presente Le comunichiamo i reati di cui dovrà rispondere in tribunale.

1) Lei si è dichiarato "Babbo", contribuendo al diffondersi del patriarcato e offendendo chi non si riconosce nella famiglia tradizionale come specificato dalla legge Papà Castoro del 1995.

2) Lei ha più volte utilizzato il suffisso "Natale" in spregio alla società multiculturale odierna. È inoltre al vaglio degli inquirenti la sua appartenenza al gruppo suprematista "Bianco Natale".

3) Lei non possiede una slitta elettrica di ultima generazione ed è entrato in ZTL chiuse al traffico inquinante, accorciando la vita del pianeta a tre anni, nove mesi, quattro giorni, dodici ore e ventisette secondi. Ora ventisei.

4) Lei applica costantemente il Body Shaming ai danni degli elfi. Quest'ultimi risultano essere stati da Lei assunti con regolare contratto a tempo indeterminato, in spregio alla flessibilità del mondo del lavoro.

5) Lei ha più case di proprietà (di classe G) site in Lapponia e al Polo Nord su cui non sta pagando alcuna Imu. Inoltre Lei non è ancora passato al mercato libero delle luminarie.

Le verranno comunque riconosciute le attenuanti date dalla sua Body Positivity, in quanto Lei non si è mai vergognato del suo normalissimo peso, e dalla sua collaborazione con la multinazionale Coca Cola.

Cordiali saluti,

Ministero della Verità e della Bontà.

(Matteo Brandi)

[kon-igi]

CHIAMA I RICORDI COL LORO NOME

Nel 2019, la mia compagna, le mie figlie e io decidemmo di intraprendere un percorso che alla fine ci avrebbe portato a diventare la famiglia affidataria di un minore e questo implicava un sacco di incontri, singoli e di gruppo, con cui assistenti sociali e operatori valutavano la nostra capacità di accudimento e contemporaneamente ci informavano e ci formavano su cosa significasse prendersi cura di un minore in modo continuativo ma parallelamente alla famiglia biologica, con la quale dovevamo rimanere sempre in contatto.

(anticipo che poi la cosa finì in un nulla di fatto perché poco dopo scoppiò il caso Bibbiano - 30 km in linea d'aria da Parma - e per precauzione/paura tutti gli affidi subirono un arresto. E poi arrivò il Covid)

La mia riflessione nasce alla lontana da un video che youtube mi ha suggerito questa mattina presto - è poco importante ai fini della storia ma è questo - che mi ha ricordato una caratteristica della mia infanzia...

Difficilmente riuscivo a essere felice per le cose che rendevano felici gli altri e quella vecchia canzone - che è considerato l'Inno del Carnevale di Viareggio, mio luogo di nascita e dei primi 20 anni di vita - ne è l'esempio emblematico, direi quasi sinestesico.

Tutti i viareggini la conoscono e la cantano nel periodo più divertente e frenetico della città ma io la associo a un'allegria dalla quale ero sovente escluso, odore di zucchero filato che non mangiavo e domeniche che significavano solo che l'indomani sarei tornato a scuola, preso in giro dai compagni e snobbato dalla maestra.

Vabbe'... first world problem in confronto ad altri vissuti (in fondo ero amato e accudito) però l'effetto a distanza di anni è ancora questo.

Tornando al quasi presente, una sera le assistenti sociali chiesero al nostro gruppo di futuri genitori affidatari di rievocare a turno prima un ricordo triste e poi uno felice.

E in quel momento ebbi la rivelazione che la quasi totalità dei presenti voleva dare amore a un bambino o a una bambina non propri perché sapeva in prima persona cosa significasse vivere senza quell'amore: gli episodi raccontati a turno non era tristi, erano terribili... violenza, abbandono, soprusi, povertà e ingiustizie impensabili nei confronti di bambino piccolo e, ovviamente, quando arrivò il nostro turno (la mia compagna non ne voleva sapere di aprire bocca) mi sentivo così fortunato e quasi un impostore che, in modo che voleva essere catartico e autoironico, raccontai di quando la maestra in terza o in quarta elementare chiamò un prete che davanti a tutta la classe mi schizzò di acqua santa perché - a detta della vecchia carampana - sicuramente ero indiavolato.

Ribadisco che la cosa voleva essere intesa come un modo per riderci su e detendere l'atmosfera pesante che il racconto dei vissuti terribili aveva fatto calare sul gruppo ma mentre sto mimando con una risatina il gesto del prete con l'aspersorio, mi accorgo che tutti i presenti hanno sgranato gli occhi e hanno dilatato le narici, nella più classica delle espressioni che indicano un sentimento infraintendibile...

La furia dell'indignazione.

Cioè... tu a 10 anni hai visto tua madre pestata a sangue da tuo padre e fatta tacere con un coltello alla gola ed empatizzi con me che ti sto raccontando una stronzata buona per uno sketch su Italia Uno?

Mi sono sentito uno stronzo, soprattutto quando la furia ha lasciato il posto a gesti e parole DI CONFORTO per quello che, evidentemente, sembrava loro una prevaricazione esistenziale orribile (cioè, lo era ma, per cortesia... senso delle proporzioni, signori della giuria).

Mi sono quindi rimesso a sedere, incassando il supporto con un certo qual senso di vergogna, finché poi non è arrivato il momento della condivisione dei momenti felici.

Silenzio di tomba.

Nessuno parlava.

Nessuno riusciva a ricordare qualcosa che lo avesse reso felice.

Con un nodo in gola - perché avevo capito che razza di vita avevano avuto le persone attorno a me - mi rendo conto che io ne avevo MIGLIAIA di momenti felici da condividere ma che ognuno di essi sarebbe stato una spina che avrei conficcato nel loro cuore con le mie stesse mani.

E allora mi alzo e rievoco ad alta voce il ricordo felice per me più antico, quello che ancora ora, a distanza di decenni, rimane saldo e vivido nella parte più profonda del mio cuore...

-Le palle di Natale con la lucina rossa dentro. Quando ero piccolo, durante le vacanze di Natale aspettavo che mio papà e mia mamma andassero a letto e poi mi alzavo per andare a guardare l'albero... non i regali sotto, proprio l'albero. Era finto, di plastica bianca spennachiosa, ma mia mamma avvolgeva sempre intorno alla base una striscia decorativa verde a formare una ghirlanda e mio padre stendeva tutto attorno ai rami un filo con delle palle che, una volta attaccate alla presa elettrica, si illuminavano di rosso. Io mi alzavo di nascosto e nel caldo silenzio della notte guardavo le luci intermittenti dipingere gli angoli del divano e del tavolo, con un sottile ronzio che andava e veniva. Ero al caldo, ero protetto, voluto e amato. Se allungo le mani posso ancora tastare quel ronzio rosso che riempe la silenziosa distanza tra me e l'albero e niente potrà mai rendere quella sensazione di calda pienezza meno potente od offuscarne la completezza. Quello era l'amore che mi veniva dato e che a nessuno sarebbe mai dovuto mancare.

A un certo punto sento una mano che mi si poggia sul braccio (avevo chiuso gli occhi per rievocare il ricordo) e accanto a me c'è la mia compagna che sorride, triste e piena di amore allo stesso tempo.

E attorno a me tutti stanno piangendo in silenzio, esattamente quello che col mio ricordo semplice volevo evitare e che invece doveva aver toccato lo stesso luogo profondo del loro cuore.

E in mezzo alle lacrime (che figuriamoci se a quel punto il sottoscritto frignone è riuscito a trattenere) cominciano a scavare tra i ricordi e a tirarli fuori... il cucciolo che si lasciava accarezzare attraverso il cancello della vicina, il primo sorso dalla bottiglietta di vetro di cedrata, la polvere di un campetto da calcio che si appiccicava sulla pelle sudata, l'odore della cantina, il giradischi a pile...

E nulla. Non so più cosa dire e nemmeno cosa volessi dire.

Forse che sembriamo così piccoli, malmessi e fragili ma che se qualcuno ci picchietta sulla testa e sul cuore siamo capaci di riempire il mondo di cose terribili e meravigliose.

Decidere quali ricordare e quali stendere davanti a noi è una scelta che spetta non a chi picchietta ma a chi permette che essi fluiscano da quella parte profonda di sé a riempire lo spazio tra noi e il domani.

[smettoquandovoglioforse]

❤Che gentile questa mamma, a molti il pianto di un neonato da fastidio.Durante un volo di 10 ore, diretto dalla Corea del Sud verso gli Stati Uniti.

Una madre ha distribuito a più di 60 passeggeri della classe economica, una bustina per ciascuno.

La busta conteneva alcune caramelle, un paio di tappi per le orecchie come una sorta di scuse anticipate, nel caso in cui il suo bambino di 4 mesi avesse urlato durante il volo.

La busta conteneva anche un messaggio che diceva:"Ciao, sono Jun Woo. Ho 4 mesi e oggi vado in America con mia madre e mia nonna. Sono un po' nervoso e spaventato. Questo è il primo volo della mia vita. È normale che pianga o provochi qualche disturbo.

Cercherò di mantenere la calma, ma non posso promettertelo. Per favore usa i tappi se la mia voce diventa troppo forte. Goditi il viaggio. Grazie".

Una cultura del rispetto della libertà altrui.❤

Corea del Sud

Dal Web

[papesatan]

E già qualcuno fra i parenti ha osato chiedermi del concorso. Ma come, non partecipi? Vedo già le mie zie insegnanti partir gagliarde con le solite domande cui non saprò cosa rispondere. La verità porterebbe a una bruta discussione, meglio tentar la via della cieca ignoranza o, peggio ancora, della menzogna compiacente. Ogni volta resto muto e interdetto, incapace di soffrirne a voce, perché ho un lavoro, cristo, un lavoro creatomi dal nulla, MI SONO DATO un lavoro e per loro non è abbastanza, perché non è un posto pubblico. Forse chi ha visto Quo vado? ma vive al nord non ha ben chiaro quanto quel film ritragga fedelmente la gretta mentalità della mia terra, ma è davvero così e non fa ridere per niente. Ricordo ancora benissimo i mesi precedenti l’apertura, il silenzio dei parenti, il vuoto intorno, le risatine di mia nonna: “Ma verrà qualcuno?” e l’insistenza di mia zia: “Hai mandato le Mad? Dovresti provare col sostegno, da lì è più facile entrare” (e di questa immonda realtà parleremo un’altra volta). Ci litigai, speravo d’aver chiarito una volta per tutte le mie intenzioni, ma puntualmente dopo qualche mese tornò a chiedermi: “Allora, hai mandato le Mad? Nessuna supplenza?” “Eh, no” mentii “purtroppo nulla”. Ci rinuncio, perché quella dei nostri genitori ormai è una generazione totalmente slegata dalla realtà, convinta di vivere ancora gli anni ‘90, dove tutto era possibile, dove entravi dove volevi con l’aiuto di zio Cosimino, dove il politichino di turno sistemava gli amici di amici, dove una laurea e un concorso significavano qualcosa. Oggi la mia dipendente, povera crista che quando non lavora passa le giornate a studiare, mi ha rivelato che per la sua classe di concorso i posti messi a bando per la Puglia saranno 3. Come dovrei non incazzarmi? Come si può restare calmi di fronte a tanto schifo? Capite perché ho mandato tutti al diavolo, aprendo la MIA scuola? Non possiamo star qui a invecchiare all’ombra di mamma e papà, in attesa che lo stato ci permetta di fare ciò che abbiamo sudato e studiato decenni per fare. In famiglia nessuno sa che ad aprile ho rinunciato all'orale. Non li ritengo stupidi, è probabile che qualcuno abbia capito (forse mia madre?), dall’Usr dell’Emilia Romagna si sono fatti vivi dopo un anno (un anno!) dal superamento dello scritto, questo sì, ma è poco plausibile che venga indetto un nuovo concorso senza aver posto fine al precedente. Almeno il dubbio deve averli sfiorati. Ma non ho il coraggio di dirglielo, lascerò che lo capiscano da sé, se vogliono, non sopporterei la cenere di quegli sguardi delusi, il ricordo di mio padre che dopo lo scritto esulta al telefono: “Volesse Iddio che ti sistemi”, la segretaria dell’Usr che alla rinuncia insiste incredula al telefono ed io che le rispondo: “Non posso, ho cambiato vita”. No, la verità li ammazzerebbe, non so manco perché poi. E la cosa che mi fa più ridere è che proprio loro, le mie care zie insegnanti, gente del mestiere, non capiscono che non potrei affiancarlo in nessun modo a ciò che già faccio, perché è già un lavoro a tempo pieno. Come potrei mai dedicarmi il pomeriggio al doposcuola e preparare al tempo stesso le lezioni del giorno dopo? Partecipare ai consigli, collegi vari, attività pomeridiane ed essere ubiquamente al mio locale? Gestisco un’attività, cazzo, non è mica il lavoretto dell’estate. Ma non lo capiranno mai tanto, meglio che m’abitui sin da ora a ripetere: “Oh, sì, eccome se ho sentito! Non vedo l’ora di tentar la sorte anch’io alla lotteria!”    

#so che molte/i di voi lo tenteranno #non lasciatevi abbattere dai numeri contrari #se è quel che volete davvero nella vita credeteci #io non ci ho creduto #ma non faccio testo #ricordatevi solo che non dobbiamo sopportare per forza tutto questo #se non vi lasciano fare il vostro lavoro mandateli al diavolo e fatelo per conto vostro #spero che ciò che ho fatto serva almeno da esempio #che possa essere utile in qualcosa almeno

[abr]

Mercoledì scorso, durante la sessione del World economic forum a Davos, il discorso del Presidente argentino Javier Milei ha fatto scoppiare una bomba a livello mondiale al punto di essere commentato in mezzo mondo e tradotto da molte testate giornalistiche. E così quello che molti media avevano dipinto alla stregua di un matto (soprattutto nella nostra cara Italia) improvvisamente si è trasformato in una via di mezzo tra un nuovo Churchill e Adenauer (...).

L’exploit del discorso di Davos: (é stato) osannato da tanti presenti che si sono complimentati con lui (...). Ma che cos’ha colpito così tanto la gente e soprattutto fatto arrabbiare in maniera clamorosa i grandi capi del Wef?

Semplice: per la prima volta un Presidente di una nazione si è rivolto al mondo intero (...) senza mezzi termini o frasi diplomatiche (...). In pratica Milei ha scoperto quell’acqua calda che molti continuano a negare, esaltando il modello capitalista come l’unico in grado nel corso del tempo, di cambiare radicalmente la condizione umana dando un benessere e un progresso nella società stessa davvero unico (...).

La parte che ha fatto più arrabbiare i leader del Wef ed entusiasmato molti è stata quando Milei ha detto (...): “Ora, per capire cosa siamo qui a difendere (...) è il rispetto illimitato del progetto di vita degli altri, basato sul principio di non aggressione, sulla difesa del diritto alla vita, alla libertà e alla proprietà degli individui, le cui istituzioni fondamentali sono la proprietà privata, i mercati liberi dall’intervento statale, la libera concorrenza, la divisione del lavoro e la cooperazione sociale. Dove si può avere successo solo servendo il prossimo con beni di migliore qualità a un prezzo migliore”.

E più avanti ha sostenuto che “i socialisti, visti gli innegabili progressi del mondo libero, i socialisti sono stati costretti a cambiare la loro agenda. Si sono lasciati alle spalle la lotta di classe (...) per rimpiazzarla con altri presunti conflitti sociali che sono ugualmente dannosi … come quello dell’uomo contro la natura.

Sostengono che gli esseri umani nuocciono al pianeta che deve essere protetto a tutti i costi, addirittura sostenendo un meccanismo di controllo della popolazione o la tragedia dell’aborto. Purtroppo queste idee dannose hanno permeato fortemente la nostra società (...). Hanno raggiunto questo risultato grazie all’appropriazione dei media, della cultura, delle università e anche delle organizzazioni internazionali (come il Wef, ndr). (...).

Fortunatamente siamo sempre più numerosi a osare alzare la voce perché vediamo che, se non combattiamo queste idee a testa alta, l’unico destino possibile è che avremo sempre più Stato, più regolamentazione, più socialismo, più povertà, meno libertà e, di conseguenza, un tenore di vita peggiore”.

(...) Purtroppo l’attuale Ue, già immersa nelle sue scandalose regole ambientali che decimeranno la classe media nel giro di pochi anni, attraverso un falso progressismo Radical-Chic Ztl sta portando avanti molte delle cose criticate dal Presidente argentino. (...)

Au point, grade Milei, il resto solo chiacchiere, distintivi, appeasement o nostagie canaglia, via https://www.ilsussidiario.net/news/diario-argentina-le-bordate-di-milei-a-davos-e-alle-linee-guida-dellue/2650140/

[scogito]

Alle medie ho volutamente svolto un tema andando fuori traccia. Ci fu qualcosa nella tematica proposta che mi fece pensare al pianto e parlai di quello. Visto che stavo in una classe di merda e detestavo anche la prof d'italiano, tutto pensavo tranne che ai voti, e poiché a quell'epoca avrei solo voluto piangere il tema sgorgò in tutti i sensi come d'impulso.

Feci un errore catastrofico perché la stronza della prof lo trovò molto bello e nonostante il mio palese rifiuto di seguire la traccia, lo lesse a tutti.

I giorni che seguirono furono per me un inferno aggiunto a quello in cui già stavo e solo a distanza di anni appresi una grande lezione.

Si ignora il dolore e ci si rifiuta di capire quale senso e quale scopo abbia. Siamo abituati a farlo di default, per gli uomini è un senso di vergogna, per le donne è debolezza. Tutte cavolate.

Se oggi dovessi consigliare a qualcuno che per un motivo o per l'altro sta soffocando una sofferenza per mostrarsi forte, fare finta di niente e credere che il tempo la cancelli, direi solo di piangere. Tanto e senza freni. Libera subito tutto lo schifo che hai accumulato e guardalo bene.

Il pianto purifica i pensieri inutili ed è capace di portarti subito dentro al nucleo del problema. Ti strappa le maschere, ti distrugge le bugie. Non nasconde niente, non ha paura di niente.

Per questo ha un valore fondamentale per l'essere umano e per questo ti insegnano a non prendertene cura. A non ascoltarlo nemmeno.

Eppure al mondo si viene piangendo... Eppure si passa il resto dei giorni a evitare di farlo, come fosse una colpa, un puntino nel corso della vita da non far quadrare mai con tutti gli altri.

Quando invece la verità che ti serve sapere è lá dentro.

È dal tuo primo respiro che nel pianto c'è la tua evoluzione.

#pianto #piangere #consapevolezza #crescita interiore #crescita personale #spiritualità #lavoro su di sè #maschere #insegnamenti #suggerimento non richiesto #verità #società #zombie #società malata #svegliatevi #aprite gli occhi #sistema #manipolazioni #catene #liberazioni #conosci te stesso #scuola #esperienze #figli #genitori #professori #evoluzione

[recherchestetique]

Aspencrow è un artista lituano, classe 1987, il cui vero nome è Edgar Askelovic.

La sua arte scultorea è di incredibile qualità tecnica con effetti iperrealistici.

L’opera è stata concepita in omaggio alla figura di Conor McGregor, atleta di arti marziali. L’artista ha regalato a McGregor questa opera in occasione del suo 30° compleanno.

Aspencrow evoca lo stile di Rodin ma ha anche evidenti antiche radici nella potenza michelangiolesca del “non finito”, e qui vediamo un’opera di un grande talento, veramente di incredibile definizione, peraltro riprodotta solo per mezzo di fotografie, senza la partecipazione attiva del modello.

Nella sua apparente incompiutezza, che dà alla scultura un fascino particolare, l’artista sembra suggerirci la potenza che si esprime in associazione alla forza pura del marmo. ( da: non c'è vita senza arte)

#aspencrow #edgar askelovic #sculpture #hyperrealism #conor mcgregor #martial arts #marble

[silentwhsprs]

━━━━━ marthas diner 3 , miles morales

miles and his family are dining in at your workplace, he embarrassed you infront of your entire class, remembering that miles has been missing out on a lot of spanish, so you're using that to your advantage.

this part may seemed rush for the lack of transitions, but im debating to start a enemies to lovers with miles but it would be a fast burn but not like a really fast burn, they’re hatred for eachother would be gone after a few chapters :((. just lmk if u would want me to write that!

“Miles?”

You felt multiple waves of emotion wash past you, you felt the world change colors. You debated whether you were happy, sad, shocked, surprised?

“Surprise?..” He chuckled nervously, his phone ringing abruptly is what killed the moment again. Before he could pull it out, you grabbed it and answered it.

“Hello!?” You shouted angrily at the culprit. “¿Con quién está hablando, señorita? ¡Mientras contesta el teléfono de mi hijo, te encontraré!” (Who are you talking to, miss? As long as you answer my son's phone, I will find you!) A voice shouted angrily back. You immediately knew it was Mrs. Morales. You handed the phone over to Miles scratching you neck.

Miles glanced at you before being scolded by his mother, he came up with a thousand excuses before she finally believed one. Where he said Gwen had answered it and with a reply of “(Y/N) is better, hijo.”

Little did she know, Gwen was far from picking up that phone.

“Now allow me to feel things Miles,” you started. “Look, I know what you’re feeling. I don’t even know how I’m feeling most of the time-“ Miles comforted.

“No you don’t. You are Spiderman. I’m just a basic civilian girl with no cool abilites to save Brooklyn, I never ever have the same opportunities as you. Plus, you have a police captain father running through your blood.” You ranted, Miles’s mask still laid on the floor. The fabric picking up debris that was chipping off the roof of the wall.

You walked toward your bed and sat down, he followed. He sat next to you and grabbed your hand. “You’re not basic. You never were.”

“Yeah-“ You began again, you were cut off by Miles bringing you in for another kiss. This one was different, as if he tried to calm you down. You put your hand on his cheek.

The creaking of the door didn’t stop the moment, the figure stopped in place and took surroundings of your room.

“Santo inferno! Nostra figlia esce con un uomo ragno!” (Holy Hell, Our daughter is dating a Spiderman!) A deep voice shouted, you two immediately pulled apart as Miles grabbed his mask and put in on!

You stood up to cover Miles, “No, papà. Questo non è quello che sembra! Non è l'uomo ragno. E non ci frequentiamo! Hai sbagliato tutto.” ( No, dad. This is not what it seems! It's not Spider-Man. And we don't date! You got it all wrong.)

“Créeme mamá!” (Believe me, Mom) You cried out, dying to protect Miles identity. Miles quickly stood by your side, except he had his mask on and deepens his voice. “I’m not Spiderman, Mr. (L/N). I’m just a cosplayer for ComicCon!” He tried.

“Vita mia, guarda questo pagliaccio che cerca di fingere di non essere Spider Guy!” (My life, look at this clown trying to pretend he's not Spider Guy!) Your father chuckled.

You grunted and rolled your eyes, this is not how you wanted your father to meet Miles. Your mother was leaning against the table addressing the Mail that was delivered today. She knew her daughter like the back of her hand.

She knew that her daughter had liked Miles, so she definitely knew that Miles was Spiderman. He needn’t to worry. His secret was perfectly save in The (L/N) Familia.

Miles stood froze doing the jazz hands positon, finally your mother spoke up. “Miles, quítate la máscara. todos sabemos que eres tú ahí abajo. Te prometo que no diremos tu identidad, pero mantente a salvo salvando a Brooklyn.” ( Miles, take off your mask. We all know it's you down there. I promise we won't reveal your identity, but stay safe by saving Brooklyn. ) She smiled, ripping open the paper that was addressed by Visions Academy.

“Mamma Mia.”(Oh Mamma!) You whispered. Miles slid off his mask and sat next to you. He put his hand over your shoulder. How could somebody else’s parents know about his identity but not even his own. Life was fucked up.

“You speak Italian?” He asked. You looked up at those honey eyes. “Yep, My dad was born in Italy then moved to America. My mom was born here except she was born and raised in a predominantly Puerto Rican area which is why my family and I know Spanish. I do have some Spanish descent though.” You explained. (idc if ur black, white, yellow, green, this is for the story.)

“Well, that’s funny. But what are we gonna call this?” He asked again, making circular finger motions around you two. “I want to get to know you better, then we can call it official if everything works out. Which I’m sure it will. And, as long as Gwendolyn Stacy stays out the picture completely. Because I’m not afraid to regañar a una chica blanca por meterse con mi hombre, especialmente cuando es mío.” (scold a white girl for messing with my man, especially when he's mine.) You smirked.

Your mom walked by the door frame and snapped a picture, “¡Le envío esto a Río para que me pague!” ( Im sending this to Rio so she can pay me! )

You and Miles looked at each other in shock, “Y’all betted on us?!” You both shouted in sync.

“Sabes que la hicimos.” (You know we did.) Your mom and Rio shouted in sync back giggling.

that’s it y’all! martha’s diner is wrapped up! remember to reread my top note about the enemies to lovers! lmk what y’all will and wont read! bye loves.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #rio morales #jeff davis #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman

[raffaeleitlodeo]

Visto che molti giornali stanno riprendendo la campagna contro l'istruzione pubblica e per una scuola "meritocratica", bombardandoci quotidianamente con improbabili storie di fantomatici geni laureatisi a 15 anni solo grazie alla forza di volontà, vorrei riportare un breve aneddoto personale. Alcuni mesi fa sono stato accettato per un dottorato (PhD) in Relazioni Internazionali dall'Università di Cambridge. Il processo di selezione, più che meritocratico, mostra come le università più conosciute ("d'eccellenza", direbbero quei giornali) siano sempre più luoghi inaccessibili per chi non ha un privilegio di classe. Per potersi candidare sono necessari una serie di pre-requisiti ufficiali, come le certificazione linguistiche, e ufficiosi, (per esempio, è quasi impossibile essere presi senza aver fatto esperienze di studio all'estero). Tutte cose estremamente dispendiose a cui solo una minoranza può avere accesso. Uno studente che va in Erasmus, per esempio, riceve circa 300€ mensili come borsa di studio, una cifra con la quale in una grande città europea si può a malapena coprire il vitto. Tutto il resto è a spese proprie. Per non parlare di esperienze lavorative utili al curriculum ma sottopagate o non pagate affatto (l'ONU, per nominarne uno, offre tirocinii di 6 mesi a New York senza prevedere alcuna remunerazione). Chi viene da una condizione abbastanza agiata e si può permettere alcune di queste cose, con un po' di fortuna e un po' di bravura, può riuscire a venire accettato in un'università conosciuta e rinomata. Le disuguaglianze più rilevanti e i maggiori privilegi, però, non si mostrano durante il processo di selezione dei candidati, ma dentro l'università stessa. Molte delle "università d'eccellenza", infatti, non forniscono stipendio ai loro dottorandi/ricercatori e anzi chiedono loro un'ingentissima retta. Di fatto, i dottorandi (che nella pratica sono lavoratori dell'università) devono pagare per poter lavorare gratis in cambio della nomea dell'università. È vero che esistono alcune borse di studio, ma queste sono generalmente poche, spesso esterne all'università, e non di rado portano a una commisitione moralmente discutibile coi più variegati gruppi privati. Il loro criterio di assegnazione è infine generalmente opaco e spesso finiscono paradossalmente per essere vinte dagli studenti più benestanti e altolocati che meno ne necessiterebbero. Per ritornare alla mia esperienza personale, io non ho vinto borse di studio. L'Università di Cambridge ha stimato che per affrontare il dottorato, tra retta e costi di vita, avrei dovuto pagare di tasca mia 52 000€ l'anno, ossia più di 200 000€ per i quattro anni di studio/lavoro. Poiché non dispongo di tale cifra (e anche avendola, non la regalerei a un'università con un patrimonio di 20 miliardi di € che semplicemente non vuole pagare i suoi dottorandi) ho rifiutato l'offerta di dottorato. In futuro forse farò altre domande di dottorato, anche se in università con una maggiore attenzione alle condizioni dei suoi studenti/lavoratori. Tuttavia, questa esperienza pratica mi ha confermato alcune cose: che l'unico modello universitario veramente di eccellenza è quello pubblico, gratuito e accessibile a tutti, anche e soprattutto ai più svantaggiati. Che nel modello della fantomatica "università del merito", sempre più privatizzata e a pagamento, la norma non sarebbero gli scintillanti adolescenti geniali rallentati dalla burocrazia dell'istruzione pubblica (una minoranza statisticamente inesistente), bensì i ricchi ereditieri ed emiri che si possono permettere un diploma dal costo di una Maserati per fare bella figura in alta società. E che, in quel modello, cultura e istruzione non sarebbero degli straordinari fattori di emancipazione sociale e collettiva, quali dovrebbero essere, bensì puri e semplici strumenti di disuguaglianza, esclusione e oppressione. Alessandro Maffei, Facebook

[colonna-durruti]

Maledetti, maledetti sfruttatori classisti.

DA LEGGERE: Lettera su Il Fatto Quotidiano

“Sono una 24enne studentessa universitaria, lavoratrice occasionale. E sono figlia di un padre di 59 anni, invalido, che ha ricevuto l’sms della sospensione del Rdc. Scrivere questa email è umiliante, ma vorrei chiarire le idee a chi forse non le ha chiare su chi siano le famiglie che in questi 4 anni sono riuscite ad andare avanti grazie a questo sussidio.

Vengo da una famiglia molto povera e sin dalle elementari ho avvertito il senso di inferiorità rispetto alle mie compagne. Non ho mai potuto fare sport, ricevuto regali come libri, mangiare fuori con la mia famiglia. Alle medie non avevo un euro per il panino, se non per qualche giorno quando mio padre riceveva il suo misero stipendio, ancora ringrazio la mia compagna Lucia che mi dava un pezzo del suo senza farmelo mai pesare. Non ho mai potuto fare gite di classe, legare davvero con le mie compagne: sapevano che stavo un gradino più in basso, non avevo argomenti, spesso piangevo perché mi sentivo abbandonata a me stessa e molte volte mi chiedevo se avrei mai potuto sentirmi “normale” come loro. Quando i soldi c’erano, erano per la casa, le bollette, per riempire frigo e freezer. Quando le cose andavano male, si rompeva un elettrodomestico, era anche peggio, bisognava decidere se mangiare o non lavarsi per una settimana. Più di tutto mi è pesato dover sempre scegliere la cosa che meno poteva impattare su tutti. A volte mi sembra di non aver vissuto, di non aver ricordi della mia infanzia/adolescenza, se non quelli passati a piangere chiedendomi che cosa avessi fatto di male per essere capitata in una famiglia così povera.

La povertà in Italia è una colpa, è un continuo fare la guerra alle persone che per definizione sono solo scansafatiche. Perché se sei povero, puoi solo essere questo. Non puoi studiare, oppure puoi studiare, senza libri, senza risorse, senza Internet, senza dispositivi, puoi adattarti agli orari delle biblioteche, appoggiarti sulle borse di studio regionali, quelle per cui devi avere il 90% di crediti dell’anno in corso. Ma avete una vaga idea di quanto possa essere difficile rimanere in corso senza una famiglia che ti sostenga alle spalle? L’università premia i bravi studenti, ma non i poveri studenti. E cosa c’entra con il Rdc?

Mi ha permesso di non scegliere, di avere i libri di cui avevo bisogno nell’immediato, di pagare le tasse (nonostante rientrassi in fascia 1), di vivere senza preoccuparmi mentre studiavo, di sentirmi normale, di non sentirmi in colpa per soldi in penne, quaderni, pranzi al sacco all’università. Mi ha consentito di vedere la mia famiglia felice per una spesa che ti assicura dei pasti decenti per 2-3 settimane. Mi ha privato della vergogna di dover chiedere aiuti alla chiesa o ai vicini. Di andare dal dentista quando stavo male, di comprare le lenti a contatto e non usare le mensili per 6 mesi. Mi ha permesso di vivere dignitosamente. Mi preoccupa tornare a come eravamo anni fa, quando i litigi in casa erano all’ordine del giorno, in un clima in cui è difficile studiare.

Ripongo nella mia carriera le speranze che un giorno la mia famiglia non vivrà tutto questo, che potrò raccontare ai miei figli ridendo di essere stata aggredita dalla mia professoressa per non avere 10 euro per il diario scolastico. La carriera da medico non mi farà dimenticare che cosa significa essere povera e vivere nella sfortuna, sarò presente nella vita di chi ha bisogno come me, ricordandomi di chi ha aiutato la mia famiglia quando più ne aveva bisogno. Nanni Moretti diceva: “Io non parlo di cose che non conosco”, perciò voi italiani, che puntate il dito, che avete visto la povertà solo nei film, che leggete della delinquenza sui giornali e la attribuite a noi, mettetevi una mano sulla coscienza e chiedetevi se siete consapevoli abbastanza per poterne parlare.”

[singinthegardns]

"Però, sai? Forse ti sto dimenticando. Non piango più dopo averti parlato, né dopo averti visto parlare con un'altra, e nemmeno dopo che i nostri occhi si sono incontrati. Certo, il tuo nome mi smuove ancora qualcosa dentro, certo, quando penso a cosa eravamo, e non siamo più, ho ancora il vuoto allo stomaco, certo, quando passo davanti la tua classe spero ancora di vederti sulla soglia, certo, fa male vederti trattare le altre come trattavi me, certo, a volte mi tornano alla mente tutti quei ricordi, certo, ogni tanto li rileggo i tuoi messaggi, e continuo a sorridere, certo, lo controllo ancora il tuo ultimo accesso, certo, quando qualcuno dice una frase che avevi detto tu, mi viene un po' di malinconia, certo, non riesco ancora a guardare nessun ragazzo senza pensarti, certo, continuo a sognarti ogni notte, certo, qualche volta mi capita di sentire ancora la tua notifica, e ci rimango un po' male quando apro il telefono e non c'è un tuo messaggio, e mi sento stupida ad averci sperato, certo, continuo a scambiare qualche passante per te, certo, se mi dicono "amore" continuo a pensare ai tuoi occhi, certo, ogni tanto ho quei momenti in cui mi butto sul letto, ti penso, e mi prende la nostalgia, certo, cammino ancora per i corridoi di scuola con quella strana ansia d'incontrarti, certo, nessun ragazzo regge mai il confronto che faccio con te, certo, ti penso ancora appena mi sveglio, prima di dormire, e anche per tutto il resto della giornata, certo, ho ancora una nostra foto come sfondo, certo, ho ancora la tua chat fissata in alto, certo, mi manchi ancora un po', forse, un po' di più di un po', certo, ogni tanto mi viene da piangere, ma ho imparato a ricacciare le lacrime indietro. Però, sai? Forse non ti sto dimenticando, per niente, però ci provo, me lo impongo, me lo sono imposta più volte, "basta lui mi ha dimenticata, devo farlo anch'io", poi però torni tu, torna il tuo ricordo, torna quell'assurda speranza nel tuo ritorno, e non ci riesco, o forse non voglio, non voglio dimenticare cosa sei stato, né cosa saresti potuto essere,no, non voglio proprio dimenticarti, anche se fa male, fa malissimo, ma il problema è che dimenticarti, mi fa più male di continuare ad amarti. Quindi aspetterò, e forse ti dimenticherò, un giorno, forse mai,ma infondo mi va bene così, forse è così che deve andare, no? Tu che sorridi a un'altra, e io che cerco di trattenere le lacrime. E forse un giorno ti dimenticherò, dimenticherò la ragione dei miei sorrisi, dei miei pianti, delle mie ansie, delle mie paure, e di tutte quelle cose, che solo tu sei in grado di provocare, e mi chiederò che ci vedevo di speciale in te. Poi forse, sarà un giorno di sole, o magari di pioggia, forse di nebbia, grandine, forse sarà autunno, o forse primavera, forse sarà al mare, magari in montagna, o, perché no? In città, sotto la luce del sole, o sotto uno spicchio di luna, forse mentre sarò presa dai miei pensieri, forse dopo una lunga giornata, forse di prima mattina, forse quando sarò in vacanza, ma insomma, poco importa, del perché, del quando, e del dove, ma succederà, che la vita, dolce amara per com'è, mi ricorderà di te, dei tuoi occhi, dei tuoi lineamenti, mi ricorderà di chi sei, probabilmente non ricorderò più il tuo nome, non è quello l'importante, o forse sì, anzi, sicuramente lo ricorderò, e mi ricorderò di te, dei sorrisi, e dei pianti, delle insicurezze e le paure, dei "vaffanculo", dei baci, dei "ti odio", della voglia che avevo di dirti "ti amo", degli abbracci, di quel posto in cui mi hai portata quella sera, delle cazzate, delle giornate no, della tua presenza a migliorarle, dei sabati sera trascorsi insieme, e di quelli passati a sentire la tua mancanza, dei messaggi, delle chiamate, dei "va via", che tradivano voglia soltanto di abbracciarti, mi ricorderò di tutto ciò che abbiamo passato, e che ho passato, dell'inizio e della fine, e mi ricorderò che ci vedevo in te, e mi riinnamorerò di te, anche se tu non mi vorrai, per poi scoprire, di non aver mai smesso di amarti."

#love #love quotes #love letters #aforismi #frasi #frasi belle #frasi bellissime #frasi dolci #frasi tumblr #frasi vere #amore tumblr #frasi amore #amore a distanza #ti amo #amore #spilled ink #citazione tumblr #tumbrl #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #artists on tumblr #frase del giorno #frasi italiane #frasi e citazioni #frasi pensieri #frasi vita #pensieri #citazioni #poesia #poesiadistrada