Читать книгу The Confessions Of A Concubine онлайн

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Holding the handrail anchored to the wall and quickly climbing the stairs.

Still aware of the neon light of the supermarket that hurt my eyes accustomed to the dark.

And finding myself answering a customer with

forced ease who asked me where she could find the crispbread.

Seeing Pietro again from my desk a few minutes later, coming back into the office, winking at me as he asks me for the packing slips from the mineral water supplier.

The water runs over my nape and slides down my back. There is no soap that can wash away the thoughts that are crowding my mind.

Or maybe I don’t want to wash everything away.

This will be my secret.

Our secret.

The small joy of each day.

The red notebook is waiting in my bag, Filippo is sleeping in the armchair with the remote control in his hand, the television tuned to one of those insane programs that I detest from the bottom of my heart.

I write.

And I lose myself thinking about you.

sweetly relaxed,

ineffectual

like all the hours

that separate me from you.