O

Last pages of the book I've been reading The Red Parts are unexpected. Like the rest of the book. I've told you so. I finally finished it. Last night, the author, in these last pages said: "The rain, when it comes, comes hard". Funny, it was raining outside (and inside of me). I agreed. The rain, when it comes, comes hard. And believe me, I love the rain but when it comes hard (as words, as a slight kick under a table, as a harsh tone of voice, as a deep silence), I just don't know what to do. Don't know what to think. (should I stay or should I go, wonders The Clash).

Today, I am not thinking about going or staying. Today I am just wishing that the next time I see the rain, it comes fresh and with a delight touch of joy. That, that I know how to handle.

But O., you must know this: either is hard or joyful, I can't help loving the rain. Rain is life. My life, i guess. I am sorry, you know I can't help my lack of sense and my excess of sensibility.

O: the rain.
Oh, the rain!