Gianluca Ambrosini

That undefined face smiling, then the curtain of hands, then there it is again.
“Peeka…”
The wait for those hands to open again, the hope that that smile will return.

“…boo!”

ome, 2012.

During university lessons, the teacher, to explain to us what a psychotherapist was, started with a roundup of “it’s not…”

He’s not a friend.

He is not a priest who absolves.

He is not a parent.

He is not an advisor.

It’s not, it’s not, it’s not…

After Christmas lunch I didn’t feel well, was it the lasagna? Too much panettone?

…I saw more closely, and I noticed a small cut on my skin…and since it was a bad day, I fell into it.
I found myself in a dark room, watching memories pass me by, some colorful, some black and white.
There was a smell of nostalgia and resentment.