Je crois plus en rien
Je sens plus le bien
J'avance mais je sais pas si je verrais demain!
"Non va come vorrei!"
- A volte vinci, a volte perdi, a volte sbagli
A volte vivi, a volte muori
A volte vivi la vita degli altri.
(I no longer believe in anything, I no longer feel anything good. I'm making progress, but I don't know if I'll see tomorrow!
"Nothing goes the way I want it to!"
- Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you fail, sometimes you live, sometimes you die,
sometimes you live the lives of others.
Lous and the Yakuza together with Sfera Ebbasta - Je ne sais pas. Translation by 4ajbukoshka, whose Italian is still far from perfect and who, much to her chagrin - and that of all who have to listen to her - is still incredibly and unhappily in love.)
"Drama? That's MY cue!", Miss Incorrigible-Hopeless-Romantic-4ajbukoshka apparently thought to herself when she had agreed to the non-date with the Italian after months of radio silence.
She had bumped into him by chance for the second time in a week - on Wednesday. I wonder if he was pursuing her Probably, in his case, she would still be happy about it.
Actually, she's still mad at him, his departure, and the fact that he didn't even apologize for his behavior.
Not without reason, 4ajbukoshka's good friend had made Don Gelato into Don Giovanni and then Cacasotto, advising her never to let him breathe in her direction at all again.
Now, however, 4ajbukoshka is once again standing in front of her closet with the big question of what to actually wear. During the day she had worn a white summery dress in Marylin Monroe cut and light blue sneakers with pink laces and white platform. Since it seems somehow wrong for her to show up in a white dress for a non-date, and because it's already evening and cold, she wants to change. But none of the dresses in her closet feel right right now. Neither do any pants.
Since her nose works better than her eyes, and she also cares a lot more about how other people smell than how they look or even how they are dressed, Signorina Chaybudum Head Koshka wanders over to her little treasure chest. She doesn't have much choice.
The rude ringing from the front door snaps her out of her thoughts.
Before she can even think "oh, damn, is it that late already?!" or "since when is this guy actually on time?!", Signor Heartbreaker had appeared at the apartment door and was already knocking.
Signorina Chaybukoshka blindly grabs one of the samples and sprays off. Changed she is also not. "Bliiiin!" she curses softly to herself as she hops to the door with one shoe on, attracting the other, accompanied by a smoky scent.
"Oh dear. Of all things!" it pops into her head even before the thought of a spicy dessert. The 'affordable' version of a wedding perfume, she recognizes the scent wafting around her head on the way to the door. Rarely must 50m2 have felt so big and the walk through the apartment so long.
She opens the door and is sure: even the thousandth time she would still get a small heart attack at this sight.
There he stands, tall, his hair shaved short on the sides and curled in the middle, insanely handsome with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps away faster than you can shout "Climate protection!"
Whether he, before they go, briefly for small Italians might. Of course.
So now, instead of changing, Signorina uses the time to pack some more food for the trip and think about her choice of outfit, including perfume. "Stay positive. Take it easy! Law of attraction. Self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe this is a sign and this will be the best day of your life, hahaha." She, who is really more of a Murphy's law kind of girl, is trying to mentally set herself up for a successful outing.
What does she have to lose.
After Signor Verbotengutaussehend has inspected her new apartment and admired the small works of art, she grabs her (art) leather jacket and slides down the staircase railing in front of him.
It's a wonderful evening with lots of candy provisions, because Verfressovitsch4ajbukoshka has once again struck and thrown the diet overboard (and therefore candied almonds with powdered sugar in the luggage), conversations that take place as always at what feels like 100 decibels, and never-ending discussions about who is right and who is wrong and which language is the more beautiful or even the most beautiful in the world - Russian or Italian (Italian, of course, at least that's what the Italian says, the Russian-speaking part holds back because he or she doesn't know all the languages in the world and doesn't want to talk about them). she does not know all languages of the world and calls instead those languages, which are NOT).
It's almost as if the last few months never existed, all familiar like the vanilla that floats gently in space, yet terribly exciting.
Because to say goodbye this time there is no kiss, only a broken heart and a 4ajbukoshka, who will spend the next few months sad-hopeless-hopeful reminiscing, pouring herself half a glass of red wine for the moment and dancing on tiptoe socks through the apartment.
Around her the sweet smell of hope and "Le plus beau jour de ma vie".
Perhaps, one day, this will indeed become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Mantieni il bacio
Oltre l'errore del tempo
Fanne qualcosa di eterno
Non lasciarne cadere neanche solo un frammento
Come polvere sul pavimento
Non staccare le labbra neanche un solo secondo
E non farti distrarre dal rumore di fondo
Perché alla fine ogni volta
È l'amore che ci salva
Dalla ferita del mondo...
(Michele Bravi - Mantieni il bacio (Keep the kiss) - if someone wants to translate it himself)