All the Casino made to have you.

Tutto il Casino fatto per Averti.
You know, I thought about you last night.
#Ferragni , during #Sanremo , did something like he wrote a letter to her when she was more or less a child.
And then, he read the whole thing.
Something like Battleship Potemkin.
I I immediately thought of all those situations that I created, that I was in as a child.
Like when I did the play. When that bitch teacher downgraded me from Saint Joseph to Simple Narrator.
Or when Piero Chiambretti called me the globe on national live broadcast just because I was plump.
Or when in Santa Maria di Castellabate, strictly Zona Lago, (and to be precise the Coin de Anita), to experience new emotions I put the armrests on my ankles ending up perfectly vertical with my head under (water) with only my feet coming out of the sea . I was saved, it seems to me, by Uncle Nando, who, pulling me out of the water by my feet, said something like you're such an idiot.
Or all my shyness, insecurities, indecisions.
In short, I thought about myself as a child, we talked about it several times, about me as a delirious child.
No, I'm not going to write a letter to my childhood self, don't worry.
But yes, leaving aside incredible philosophical nonsense that would make you bang your balls against a wall for three hours, I would really like to say a few words to the one from a few years ago.
Like that time with you which let's face it, was really nice, and which is missed.
And that yes, I could have thought differently, done something else, who knows what.
But then, I wasn't what I am now, and that your absence in a certain sense has made me, now.
I couldn't be what I am now, with you, it's obvious.
Also because technically I understood three thousand things, reasoned.
For me, your absence was something like eight octane petrol (yes, the color is called that because of the petrol) shot into a carburetor with the violence and power of millions of fiery horses.
With mistakes, wrong assessments and the usual various bullshit.
Here, This.
This is what I thought last night, while Ferragni read that letter live, at the #Sanremo festival.
But it's true, I miss you.
Poster Still, Eduardo de Crescenzo.
And I don't give a damn.
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